Van Rosenberg
by OriginalAlcy
Summary: The year is 1897 and the last thing Willow Rosenberg wants to be doing is battling against the forces of darkness – but it's a way to earn a living. The discovery of a hidden diary and the journey that follows will disrupt everything that Willow has ever known - including her own identity. It will also reunite her with a love she never knew she lost. Willow/Tara AU.
1. The Intrepid Researcher

**A/N:** Van Rosenberg is undoubtedly the most complex of my Willow/Tara fics.

Without wanting to give too much away I'll say that I've borrowed a bit of mythology from canon, a little from Bram Stoker and some from the depths of my own imagination. You'll recognise quite a few characters from Buffy along the way, as well as a few other fictional characters that I've usurped.

It spans across several genres - historical fiction, supernatural, romance - and I hope it all combines to create an interesting read.

* * *

**Chapter One  
The Intrepid Researcher**

_7 March 1777_

_It would seem that I can scarce hear myself think over the beating of my heart. With my body trembling as I write these words, my script is sprawling across the page in a manner that would have my tutor cringing. I simply must commit the memories of this day to paper as I cannot speak of them to a single soul. I cannot even confide in my own dear mother - I could only imagine the look of horror on her face if I were to inform her of the event that transpired today. Event, how can one call such a momentous occasion a mere event?_

_I shall describe what happened as best I can and fervently hope that I can conceal this diary from other prying eyes. _

_I have oft said I despise the Marlborough's annual picnic. One can scarce move for all the bores and cads vying for one's attention. Sometimes I am wicked enough to imagine them bursting, so hard they are trying. Edward Walsh followed me around like a sad little spaniel all day and I half expected his tail to start wagging when I allowed him to sit next to me while I watched a game of bowls. As my attention wavered from Edward's well-meaning but dull attempts at conversation, I noticed a new face. It was a young woman I had never laid eyes on before. I thought was strange as I am well acquainted with everyone of note in the district. I could not possibly see how I could have failed to notice her. Curiosity overcame my usual reservations and I excused myself from Edward's attentions. I boldly followed the young woman on her walk which led into the stables. After her initial surprise at seeing someone else there, we finally had a chance to make our introductions. She possessed the strangest name I have heard, yet beautiful in its simplicity. I listened to her explain that she and her brother had recently moved to the district I remembered my mother telling me that Sir Clifford's estate, Hagley Park, had passed to his nephew (I do think my mother was hinting that I should make his acquaintance. I'm sure he is a very fine young man who will make someone a good match but my interest lies with his sister!) She endeared me from the moment she confessed that she had no love of large gatherings and had decided to hide in the stables despite her fear of horses!_

_Even now I cannot remember how long we spoke for, I think she had me captivated by some sort of witchcraft for I could not draw myself away from her presence. We spoke of all manner of things and would have definitely proven Edward wrong in his belief that women are incapable of debating politics or difficult moral issues. W is undoubtedly a woman possessed of a sharp mind but that was only part of what had me enthralled. I found myself watching the tilt of her chin as she spoke, the adorable manner in which her lips moved and curled so easily up into a smile. Her green eyes danced as she talked with animation I never thought possible, the very words she spoke seemed to tumble forth from her mouth as though she could not stop even if she wanted to. _

_As dusk fell outside still we had not stirred from the stable. No doubt the rest of our party had retired indoors for supper. I could not even feel guilty for the thought that Edward was probably searching high and low for me. He was farthest from my mind. It was the chill wind whistling through the stable that finally forced us indoors but not before W leaned across and brushed her gloved hand against my cheek. I closed my eyes to savour the moment and suddenly found soft lips pressed up against mine. She had leaned forward to kiss me! I cannot possibly describe the experience in words, so gentle was her touch and sweet was her taste. My lips parted only slightly and I heard myself gasp with delight. I knew full well that such behaviour was scandalous and I ought to push W away from my body. Instead I found myself leaning closer, close enough to feel the small curve of her breast through the fabric that separated our skin. I feel a hot flush rise into my cheeks even now as I relive the moment through words. I know I cannot write anymore without craving W's touch. Oh, I am wicked indeed but I want more of her. Everything about that kiss was forbidden…but I do not care._

* * *

"Good gracious!" Willow Rosenberg exclaimed as she glanced at the pocket watch she held in her fumbling hands.

_The day hasn't even started yet and already I'm behind!_ Willow thought in exasperation, mentally beating herself with a large stick. She was running desperately late on the one day she simply could not afford to be late.

She swung her legs onto the cold wooden floor of her flat and took a brief moment to compose herself. The date on the calendar tacked to the wall read _19 October 1897_. It was jammed between a picture of her parents and a newspaper cutting sensationalising a reported haunting in Watford. Willow exhaled loudly in the calm before the storm. With a huge exertion of willpower she tore herself away from her bed to attend, very quickly, to her morning toilet.

Her cramped bedroom was little more than a closet leading off from the main room of her tiny, third-floor flat in Islington. It ought to have contained relatively little owing to its size, but a battered duchess with a cracked mirror, a wardrobe and a chest of drawers surrounded the narrow bed jammed beneath the window. Almost every useable inch of wall space was covered by framed photographs, newspaper cuttings, pages torn from magazines and pencil sketches and watercolours done in Willow's own hand. There was no one constant subject that held Willow's fascination; everything was represented on her wall from Petrie's latest Egyptian dig, Oscar Wilde being released from prison and a rather sinister watercolour of a dark cave.

At that moment, Willow was hopping around on the rag rug trying to lay her hands on necessary items of clothing. She wrinkled her small nose at the sight of her only clean shirt lying squashed behind the door. She had of course forgotten to iron it and smoothing the wrinkles out with her palm was completely useless. Willow shrugged and tugged it over her undergarments. The shirt would be fine as long as she kept her jacket and vest on.

A few moments later Willow stood in the middle of her rug and glanced down at her outfit. A rather rumpled matching three piece grey pinstripe suit completely concealed her un-ironed shirt save for the stiff collar which looked passably neat. Willow quickly snatched up the last few items she needed, her pocket watch and a bright red tie that had been hanging on her bedroom doorknob. She only paused in her combined kitchen and living room long enough to grab an apple for her lunch and her satchel.

Following a brisk walk, Willow managed to catch the horse-drawn tram that would take her all the way to Russell Square. She spent almost every minute of the journey checking her pocket watch. When she finally reached her destination she leapt from the tram and sprinted through the heavy stone gates in front of her. Already out of breath, she sprinted up the steps and pushed her way through the heavy door beneath a small, barely noticeable bronze plaque that read:

_British Museum_ –_ Employee Only Entrance._

As she made her way through the endless corridors that made up the bowels of the British Museum, Willow tried rather ineffectually to review a large stack of papers in her hands. She was busy scribbling pencil notes in the margin of one particular page when she rounded a corner and collided with a cup and saucer full of tea. The tea sloshed all over Willow's papers and the front of her jacket. The cup and saucer clattered to the floor and promptly smashed. Willow's jaw dropped as she looked up at the culprit who had been holding the beverage.

It was a young man with cheek length brown hair flopping forward over his boyish face. His eyes were wide with horror and the position of his jaw mirrored Willow's. Myles Cavendish was supposedly employed as a runner - the lowest of the low amongst the museum's white-collar workers. He was supposed to fetch, carry and generally be on call for whatever task was needed. However, Willow had never actually seen Myles carry out these tasks for anyone else; he had attached himself to her as an unofficial personal assistant. He always seemed to appear at the times when he was least appreciated.

"You clumsy oaf, Myles!" Willow wiped ineffectually at the damp patch on her jacket with her papers. "I'm late enough already."

Willow then realised that she was trying to do her cleaning with important documents and she stopped, staring down at the inky mess on the top sheet.

"I'm so s-sorry, Miss Rosenberg," the poor lad stammered.

Myles whipped out his pocket-handkerchief and instinctively began dabbing at the wet patch that had spread across the front of Willow's jacket. It took him several seconds to realise that the placement of his hands was far more intimate than their relationship warranted. Before Willow could protest, Myles's cheeks flamed bright red as he found his hand poised above her breasts. He snatched the handkerchief away and instead went to work picking up the pieces of shattered crockery.

"No, I'm sorry, Myles," Willow hunkered down next to the young man, joining him in placing the shards into the damp handkerchief.

"It's alright, Miss Rosenberg," Myles glanced up, his cheeks still ruddy with colour. "I just though you might like a spot of tea before your meeting, seeing as you never have breakfast and all. It was cold anyway because you're-"

"Late!" Willow finished his sentence as she jumped to her feet. "I really must get going, Myles. The Director will be waiting."

"Bye!" Myles called at Willow's fleeing back.

Willow didn't stop running even when she reached the impressive oaken door that was the entrance to the offices of the Director of the British Museum. She shoved the door open whilst running at full tilt and flew into the room on the other side. A cold voice greeted her as soon as she slid to a halt.

"Miss Rosenberg, you're late."

The voice belonged to an exceptionally prim young woman who managed to look down on Willow through her spectacles even though she was sitting behind a desk where Willow was standing. Her brown hair was coiled perfectly atop her head, cosmetics applied in all the right places and, from what Willow could see, she was wearing a simple but flattering dress with an amethyst brooch at her neck. A neat little plaque on her desk read: _Cordelia Chase_. Cordelia looked as though she had been at work, seated behind her typewriter, for several hours already.

"Good morning to you too, Cordelia," Willow replied breezily.

If Willow had been less of a well-mannered young lady, she would have muttered a barbed comment or at the very least scowled in annoyance. Instead, she turned around and tortured herself in a different way by examining her appearance in the full length mirror that Cordelia had carefully positioned opposite her desk. The secretary snorted in contempt at her view of herself being blocked by the decidedly shabby researcher. Willow was only saved from further dressing down by Miss Cordelia Chase when another woman joined them in the room.

Gratefully turning her back on the mirror, Willow smiled as she saw her colleague and friend, Faith Winters, enter the room. However, she took one look at the expression on Faith's face and knew she would prefer to listen to Cordelia. It was like a storm about to unleash itself, dark and cloudy with a hint of thunder. Like Cordelia, she too was neatly attired but the matching skirt and jacket she wore was plain in the extreme. No lace or brooches adorned her body.

"Bloody hell, Rosenberg, I've been looking for you for the past thirty minutes!" the young woman growled in lieu of a greeting.

"And good morning to you too, Faith," Willow was beginning to feel a little like a pincushion.

Faith was of an age with Willow They both worked in the same department of the Museum, but that was where the similarities ended. Faith was the embodiment of sensuality - almost exotic in her dark features and smouldering gaze. While Willow was scholarly and clumsy, it was all too obvious that Faith was a woman of action. She was poised and graceful in all her movements, even as she threw up her hands in disgust.

"I told you to wear a dress today!" Faith snapped, looking Willow up and down with a disapproving expression.

"Why should I when you look silly enough for the both of us?" Willow snickered. However, in response to Faith's withering glare, she quickly wiped the smile from her face and threw up her hands in an admission of defeat. "I'm dreadfully sorry, Faith. I must confess I forgot all about the meeting until I woke up this morning and I was already late. I was up until dawn reading those fascinating new texts you brought back from your last trip East-"

"And what the devil is that mess all done your front?" Faith gasped at the dark stain spread across Willow's jacket.

"Errr…breakfast," Willow replied, wiping ineffectually at the damp patch. "Courtesy of Myles."

"That young man is disaster on two feet! You're both as bad as each other!" Faith huffed in exasperation as she reached for Willow's jacket and began to peel it from her shoulders. "Turn around."

Willow obliged, turning so Faith could pull the offending soiled garment from her shoulders as she muttered to herself about the incompetence of those she was forced to work with. Once the jacket was removed, Faith tossed it so it landed precisely across Cordelia Chase's typewriter, effectively silencing the clack-clacking of her keys.

"Hang that up would you, your Highness?" Faith asked, winking in response to Cordelia's stare of glacial murder.

As soon as she had shrugged out of her jacket, Willow realised that she was left standing in her waistcoat and shirtsleeves. Eyes wide, she glanced down at each arm in turn to reconfirm the reason for wearing her jacket in the first place. Her sleeves were wrinkled beyond all acceptable standards.

"Please don't tell me you've spilt something on your shirt too?" Faith saw the look on Willow's face but with Willow's quick shake of her head she sighed with relief. "Good or you'd be going in to see Croft in your undergarments. Come on, she'll be furious, she's been waiting for over an hour."

Willow stopped in her tracks and reached out to grab Faith by the elbow. "Do you think she's found a fault with my work?"

Slightly annoyed at being held up yet again, Faith spun around to face her colleague. Her annoyance vanished in the face of Willow's earnest expression. She was so paranoid as to the quality of her work that her grip on Faith's elbow had tightened to the point of being painful. Gently, Faith prised Willow's grip open with her own fingers. Looking a little sheepish, Willow folded her arms across her chest.

"Your work is perfect, as always," Faith reassured her. "You're also indispensable to the organisation, so she won't fire you no matter how angry she may get this morning. Keep a stiff upper lip, Willow, and you'll be fine!"

"She's a monster," Willow turned her head slightly towards the door that lay before them. "Honestly Faith, I think I need to find a new job…one where I don't fear for my life upon entering into a meeting with my employer."

Faith arched an eyebrow as Willow turned back to face her. "Croft isn't so bad…and besides, haven't you always wanted to battle the forces of darkness, learn the secrets of the netherworld and keep mankind safe and blissfully unaware of the real world that lurks around them?"

Willow thought about this seriously for a few seconds before replying, "Not particularly…no."

Faith grunted in annoyance, although a small smile turned up the corners of her mouth. It was difficult for her to remain angry at Willow for more than a few minutes, no matter how vexed she had been. She continued onto the door and rapped on it twice. After the command to enter, Faith paused to wink at Willow.

"Methinks you fear something other than the Director's bristly demeanour…something more along the lines of her full lips and ample bosom?" Faith whispered conspiratorially, seconds before she whipped open the door.

As a result of Faith's unexpected question, Willow's face was frozen in a tortured expression in full view of the Director of the British Museum. Faith added further insult to injury by placing her hand in the small of Willow's back and shoving her forward into the room. Willow stumbled for a few steps before straightening in front of the extraordinarily large, highly polished desk. The desk set the tone for the rest of the room with rich, oaken wood throughout. It made up the heavily laden bookshelves which stretched upwards, all the way to the ceiling several metres above. Hung from the bookshelves at various intervals was a collection of savage looking wooden death masks, their feather adornments browned with age. It was rumoured that they were from tombs that the Director herself had raided in her youth. Guests in the office were often struck by the masks and found themselves constantly looking over their shoulders to confirm that they did not move. The atmosphere was completed with the outside light filtered into odd lines by the partially closed velvet drapes. A thin line of sunlight cast downwards, slicing over the desk and down onto the worn Oriental rug upon which Faith and Willow now stood.

A figure sat behind the desk, body entirely in shadow. Little more than an outline could be seen until the figure moved its feet from where they were perched up on the desk and swung them down onto the floor with a loud thud.

"Winters and Rosenberg, given that both of you are fully aware of my appreciation for timeliness, it strikes me as extremely odd that you would choose to be tardy." The figure flipped the pocket watch in her hand open with a savage click. "One hour tardy to be precise."

The speaker then moved forward into the sunlight. As the light streamed in, it illuminated an exceedingly beautiful woman's face. Her features were almost exotic. By far her most stunning features were her rich brown eyes and the sensually plump lips that Faith had teased Willow about. Even sitting down, she exuded an air of strength and confidence. Her brown hair was done up in a sleek, plaited arrangement from which a single hair did not dare to escape. While the fashion of the time was for daywear to reveal as little flesh as possible, her low cut dress more than hinted at the cleavage of an ample bosom. It was exactly where Willow was trying her best not to look. Willow brought her gaze back up to the Director's large, piercing eyes. The aforementioned lips were pursed in an expression of disapproval.

The severity of the situation disintegrated as soon as Faith smirked and opened her mouth. "Our reasonable explanation is Willow being Willow. She has absolutely no concept of time."

"I do too!" Willow protested, turning to confront Faith. "I am punctual, efficient and highly reliable…even though the present circumstances would seem to disagree."

"Indeed," the Director intoned serenely. "Your statement would also seem to be at odds with your appearance…which by any standards is disgraceful. I do believe young Cavendish dresses better than you."

Willow folded her arms in an effort to disguise her shirtsleeves and willed herself to disappear through the floorboards and back to her basement office. She was also fairly sure that Faith was enjoying every moment of her humiliation.

The Director sighed as though Willow was a lost cause and pursed her palms together. "Well, we've lost enough time as it is and I have a meeting with some Greek diplomats at eleven – I swear, those bloody marbles will be the death of me."

"We could just give them back," Willow muttered in a barely audible tone. She knew Croft was referring to the Elgin Marbles – a set of sculptures taken from the Parthenon in Greece at the start of the century

Faith dug a sharp elbow into Willow's side and the redhead chose not to pursue that particular line of conversation.

Either the Director had not overhead the comment, or she chose to ignore it. "Why don't the two of you take a seat and we'll get started."

Willow and Faith each chose one of the Queen Anne chairs that sat in front of the Director's desk, Faith crossed her legs demurely while Willow sat with her legs apart and elbows resting on her knees. Even after only a few moments of sitting she began to fidget, reaching out and picking up the rather dusty name plaque which sat on the desk in front of her. Swiping her fingers across the brass plaque, she removed a thick layer of dust to reveal the name beneath: _Lara Croft, Director._ Willow glanced up to find Croft staring directly at her and she winced, attempting to place the plaque back on the desk a little too quickly she dropped it to the floor with a loud thud. When she finally managed to get the plaque safely back into its rightful spot, both Faith and Lara were glaring at her with raised eyebrows.

"Um…shall we get started?" Willow suggested helpfully, she then sat back in her chair and clasped her hands in her lap as though that would stop them from wandering.

"I've read through Rosenberg's research," Lara began, keeping one eye trained on Willow for a few moments longer before turning to the papers sitting in front of her. "And I am of the opinion that this might just be the information for which we have been searching."

Lara lifted her head and looked directly at Willow, a small congratulatory smile played across her full lips. The redhead's face blanched immediately and her hands unclasped to begin picking absently at the wooden arms of her ottoman.

"It was simply a matter of cross-referencing several known documents…nothing really, I'm sure other scholars would have arrived at a similar conclusion…eventually," Willow explained modestly. "And of course without a firsthand exploration of the monastery it's still mere speculation. I would be the first to admit that while you can learn a great deal from books, nothing quite compares to gathering data in the field."

"And yet everything you say claims the contrary," Faith winked conspiratorially.

Willow glared at Faith as though her words were not perfectly true. It was well known that Willow would do virtually anything to avoid being sent out into the field and away from the safe confines of the British Museum. While the wider population was blissfully unaware of the true evil that lurked unseen in the world around them, Willow knew full well that each old folktale, wild rumour and spirited conjecture had its grain of truth. Those noises in the dead of night were something to be feared; whatever her mother had once told her. She was now quite happy to carry out the research and send Faith out to do the dirty work. The brunette was notoriously sloppy with her field notes but Willow was with to put up with bad spelling in order to avoid going out herself.

Lara largely ignored the banter between the two friends as she continued talking, "Which is precisely why the Council and I have decided to send Faith to the ruins of the monastery at Tirgsor as soon as possible."

Only half-listening, Willow had picked up a small sixteenth century Dogon horseman and was making it trot across Lara's desk. She did not look up to see the piercing expression on Lara's face at the sight of the priceless African artefact being used like a child's toy.

Faith's eyes lit up, her attention focused somewhere other than Willow. "Dracula's library - no doubt there is an exceptionally powerful guardian keeping watch."

"His name was Vlad, Vlad Tepes," Willow's interest returned as her keenly tuned ears picked up the historical inaccuracy perpetuated by second-rate authors and scaremongers. "And to the best of my knowledge there is nothing guarding the library-"

"Like there was nothing guarding that burial cave in Southern France last year?" Faith reached out and snatched the Dogon artefact from Willow's hand.

"How was I to know a daemon hound was taking refuge in there?" Willow protested her innocence.

"A bloody great wounded daemon hound," Faith stressed the word 'wounded' as she placed the African artefact back on Lara's desk. "The beast was starving and I nearly sated its hunger!"

"Back to the task at hand!" Lara announced even as Willow was about to launch into an explanation that would prove Faith thoroughly enjoyed her meeting with the beast. "I believe your main goals should be…"

As Lara continued briefing Faith, Willow fumed. She knew full well that Faith had revelled in entertaining her colleagues with the story of how she battled the wounded hound with her only weapon being a table fork. She would have had the head stuffed and mounted if not for the necessity of burning the corpse and scattering the ashes in water to avoid the resurrection of the beast at the next full moon.

Willow soon found herself drifting off from the conversation altogether as Faith and Lara turned to discussing uninteresting matters regarding travel plans and contacts. Her eyes roamed Lara's study for a good many minutes even though she had virtually every volume of text in her own office and she could not bear to dwell on the hideous death masks for long before she felt chilled and uncomfortable. For someone involved in her line of work, such a reaction in the presence of a mere death mask was not something you readily admitted to.

While Willow's mind had wandered, Lara had continued her discussion with Faith. "I want Giles to provide you with all the appropriate accoutrement for this type of operation. I have already passed him a list of items you will require including an ample supply of silver bullets."

_Ugh…weapons, _Willow thought with a slight twitch of her nose. Conversely Faith was completely riveted to her favourite subject. She was eagerly making additional suggestions to Giles. Eventually it seemed as though an army was setting out instead of just one woman. Thoroughly bored, Willow's wandering gaze fell onto the Director - Lara Croft herself. Although inexperienced when it came to flattery, Willow could still appreciate that the Director was a sensuously beautiful woman possessed of that rare ability to captivate people's attentions with a mere look. It was difficult to admit that Faith was right, but she did fear Lara's full lips and ample bosom. Just the mere thought of either sent her heart racing uncontrollably.

Given her line of work, Willow had researched her own problem extensively. This had resulted in an extensive compilation of notes concerning love and lust. Although neither topic had been explained fully enough to satisfy her need for conclusive, textual proof, Willow had decided that she was most definitely not in love with Lara Croft. Lust on the other hand was a reasonable hypothesis but she did not know how to conduct the experiments necessary to draw some sort of conclusion. She had probed Faith's mind for a suitable method but her friend's prying and embarrassing questions had quickly turned her off the idea.

For all official purposes, this was where her research ended. It was only when she was alone in the depths of night, tucked up in bed with her mind continuing to work overtime that she allowed herself to dwell on something other than research. She allowed herself to dream that there was someone out there somewhere, waiting for her. Her dreams had begun to concern her of late, for no longer did she feel that was all they were. Her instincts told her that this person was real, even though Willow could not find a face, or a name. Willow could not explain it - and anything the red-haired researcher could not explain was very dangerous indeed.

"Are we keeping you from something important, Rosenberg?" Lara asked archly.

Willow snapped back to her senses and realised she had been unconsciously drumming her fingers in a steady beat on the arms of her chair. She immediately stopped and gripped the arms as though to prevent herself from floating away.

"No, of course not." Willow swallowed uncomfortably, "I mean, there's nothing more important than a meeting with you Lara…I mean Director Croft. I'm sorry…it's just that I've a huge pile of work to get through."

"Now what she really means to say is that being in a crowd of three is getting to her and she would like to run back to the safety of her little basement office," Faith translated Willow's seemingly innocuous explanation.

Lara audibly ground her teeth in the presence of her two troublesome subordinates. She had often imagined how gratifying it would feel to banish them both from her museum for good. It was an impossible whim. While it would mean freedom from their bickering she would loose two invaluable staff.

Willow was undoubtedly the most gifted researcher she had ever come across. Not only could she translate almost a dozen ancient languages and not bat an eyelid at reading firsthand accounts of all manner of supernatural activity, she had never taken a sick day, worked all the waking hours of the day and did not constantly lobby for a larger office. Even though the little redhead's quirks bordered on the edge of reclusive insanity, she was quite fascinating.

Faith was something altogether different…and Lara knew that she could definitely not find another Faith.

As she sat across the table from the two women, Lara found herself annoyed at the circumstances that kept her relationship with them anything other than strictly professional. Both would have made good friends…and Faith possibly something more. Lara had to stop herself from running the tip of her tongue over her lips as she dwelt on that possibility. As it had to be, she sat forward in her seat and affixed her sternest expression possible.

"For both your sakes, I hope that the pair of you do not behave like this in public. Mark my words, I will find out and both your heads will roll!" Lara growled in an even tone, "Faith, you are leaving for Eastern Europe tomorrow so I suggest you attend immediately to your preparations and Willow, you may return to work and…do whatever it is that you do. If Faith needs any further information from you, see that she has it without delay."

"Yes ma'am," Faith and Willow replied in unison, before beating a hasty retreat from Lara's office.

Hardly subdued, Faith delivered a rather cheeky look over her shoulder back at the Director that Willow did not see. The door closed on Lara's secretive smirk.

Once safely out of Lara's office, both Willow and Faith passed the prickly presence of Cordelia Chase. The secretary gave them a level stare, not taking her eyes off them as though they might purposefully break something just to spite her. As they left the office, Faith turned and jabbed a painting hanging on the wall. The frame tilted and it hung decidedly askew.

"Feeling okay?" Faith asked as she closed the door on the beginning of Cordelia's predictable rant, she gave Willow a playful nudge. "Or is your heart beating a little faster after being in her presence?"

"I have absolutely no idea what you are talking about. My heart palpitations are completely normal!" Willow protested a little too vehemently. "You affront me grossly, Faith. It is Croft of whom we speak! Not to mention the fact that she's a woman."

Faith cocked an eyebrow and sighed. "Willow, I'm your closest and dearest friend, when are you going to open up to me and admit the desires of your heart?"

"I have no desires." Willow replied all too quickly. "Other than to get back to my office. I'm working on the most interesting document, a fifteen century French translation of a Greek scholar's account of what he thought were simply very odd murders, but I think it is evidence of vampirism in Ancient Greece, imagine the possibilities!"

"Will, look, it's a beautiful autumn's day outside," Faith interrupted Willow just as the beginnings of a feverish excitement were showing in her expression.

Faith grabbed the scholar by her elbow and dragged her to the nearest window, pointing to the bright sunlight that bathed London's streets in a warm, golden glow.

Willow followed Faith's finger and squinted slightly at the harshness of the sunlight. "That's nice."

"Well, aren't you going to go out and enjoy it? You sit from dawn until dusk in that little office of yours and then you go home and sit alone in your apartment. You're as pale as can be and you do nothing but work…go outside, take your lunch and your camera and just look at everything…who knows, you might even talk to someone new!"

Willow's eyes bulged in mock horror. "Gracious, meet someone new? I don't think so, Faith."

Faith growled in a manner which Willow took to mean that she had better leave the building or else something very unfortunate would befall her. Given the various weapons that Faith kept concealed about her person, Willow thought she ought to comply.

"Right, that's settled then. Giles wants to see me in the lab, said he's got something new for me," Faith's eyes were wild - like a school child in a candy shop. "Now off with you!"

* * *

Willow stood at the entrance to the rather brown looking park with a small trace of annoyance in her expression. In one hand she held a little tin lunch box containing her lunch. Before Faith had sent her into the great outdoors she had intended to eat as she usually did - with one hand while continuing to work with the other.

Nevertheless, she was attempting to make the most of being outdoors by bringing along her beloved Kodak camera. The boxy little device hung from a leather strap around her neck.

It took her a few minutes of standing and staring to realise that the reason everything was so brown was that it was actually autumn. All around her, the leaves were falling in droves and the green grass was coated in a spotty looking coat. Every so often a soft breeze would pick up a few leaves and waft them up into the air. Willow spied an empty park bench. As she walked towards it she realised she had forgotten how pleasant this particular park was with its meandering paths and stately oak trees. Despite the fact that the season heralded the arrival of colder weather, it was pleasantly mild and Willow did not miss her overcoat.

Willow ate with her head down, constantly worried that other park users were watching her. She thought she presented an odd picture - a little pale creature venturing out from her basement office. It was only when her lunch was finished that she dared risk a peek to see who else was out and about. It was a diverse range of people. Mostly they looked as though they too had escaped from their workplaces to catch a brief spot of fresh air. Bowler hats and umbrellas tucked beneath arms were in abundance. As Willow scanned the park she began to realise that watching people was actually quite fascinating - although she did feel slightly guilty when she stared at someone for overly long.

However there was one person in particular whom Willow could not help but stare at. Standing on the other side of a small path was a young woman. Based on her appearance, Willow deduced that she was not escaping from some secretarial position in one of the downtown offices. Firstly her pale blonde hair was unbound. It fell down to the small of her back. With the way she had her head tilted, it partially obscured her face. Willow could only see the curve of a pale cheek. She found herself smirking at the thought that there was actually someone out there who saw even less sun than she did. The blonde hair fell down over an unadorned black coat – possibly made of leather - which obscured the entire length of her body. Willow so desperately wanted to see the woman's face the she stood and shuffled slightly to her right until she could see a pair of full lips and a handsomely appointed nose.

Willow instinctively lifted her Kodak and framed the mysterious woman in its viewfinder. She paused for a few moments as a strange feeling of familiarity coursed through her body. It was such an odd sensation that Willow felt she ought not to take the woman's picture. She was about to lower her camera altogether when the woman turned and looked over her shoulder - directly at Willow.

The redhead received such at frightful shock that her poised finger jabbed downwards and the shutter clicked audibly. A flush of embarrassment flooded Willow's cheeks as she lowered the camera and found herself eye to eye with the young woman standing on the other side of the path. For the first time she saw that her eyes were an unnaturally brilliant shade of blue. It was a piercing look that was oddly warm and yet chilling at the same time.

At the point where a bolder individual may very well have strode across the path and made a dashingly apologetic introduction, Willow raised her hand and gave the woman a silly little wave. She stopped her wave abruptly as though realising its innate silliness. When she tried to make a graceful exit she tripped over her own feet in her haste. The first few steps of her getaway looked like a circus act. When her balance was restored, Willow practically ran from the park with her head down with her Kodak clutched tightly to her chest. Her lunch box remained forgotten on the park bench.

If Willow had glanced back over her shoulder she would have seen a sad but knowing smile on the woman's face. It was almost as though Willow's antics were familiar – like a scene from a book she had not read for a long time.

With Willow out of sight, the pale woman crossed the path and folded her body gracefully onto the same park bench upon which the redhead had sat. Her black coat settled about her as she picked up the tin lunch box Willow had forgotten.

"You haven't changed at all, Willow," she murmured softly to the wind.


	2. A Storm in Mauve Taffeta

**Chapter Two  
A Storm in Mauve Taffeta **

_16 September 1777_

_Tonight unfolded like any other of the season. Sir John's party was gay enough to be sure. All the names were present but I was still fearfully bored. Father has been waylaid at Chatham Dockyard this past week, so he gave his permission for Edward to escort Mother and I. Father expects Edward to ask for my hand soon. I know he shall give his consent for it is a very fine match. I do not wish to dwell on it overmuch but I fear that this time next season, for better or for worse, I shall be Mrs Edward Walsh. It is folly, but I know full well my heart yearns for another. Someone who is intelligent where Edward is slow-witted, interesting rather than dull and so very handsome when compared to Edward's rather homely features. Oh, I know looks should count for naught but if you could just see W - wonderful, precious W whom I have not seen for months, W whom I was delighted to reacquaint myself with tonight at Sir John's party. The moment our eyes met it was clear that neither of us had forgotten the lingering kiss we shared in the Marlborough's stables that windswept spring day. I would have liked for nothing more in the world than to resume that kiss, for W to sweep me close and smother me with those lips. As we stared at one another, my bosom heaved as though the kiss were a reality and not mere fantasy. I found myself imaging W's hands roaming over my flesh. I was lost. It was a wretched summons from Edward that broke me out of my reverie and I awoke from the dream in W's eyes. I barely had time to whisper a promise of a more intimate meeting before W too was summoned away by her brother. I felt as though I stood alone in the crowded room. The whole time we had laid not one finger on each other, nor even taken one step closer together, yet I could remember the touch of her hands on my flesh. _

_When I returned to Edward he questioned me as to what W and I conversed about. "The state of the roads and the weather," remarked I (for both have indeed been dreadful this season). _

_If Edward detected my lie he said nothing and continued in his boring voice, "W does look particularly well." _

_I almost choked for a moment, so ridiculously unsuitable were his words. _

"_No," I replied in a moment of utter abandon. "She looks beautiful."_

* * *

Willow Rosenberg was in her element. She was perched behind a desk every bit as large as that belonging to Lara Croft. The fact that it had seen better days did not seem to worry her in the slightest. The desk's entire surface was stacked high with all manner of books and manuscripts. There was no apparent rhyme or reason to their organisation. Even the space directly in front of Willow was stacked with paper. Every so often she scribbled with mad energy on the topmost sheet, dipping her pen in an ink jar balanced atop a stack of books. She would them resume reading the text that lay in her lap until her next bout of scribbling.

A loud rap startled Willow. She jerked upright from where she was hunched over the text and one hand hit the lip of her desk. If the desk had been any less solid, there would have been a disaster involving puddles of ink and priceless manuscripts. As it was, Willow shook her hand up and down furiously as she turned to see Faith standing in her office doorway.

Faith glanced up at the single lightbulb that dangled overhead and squinted at its feeble light. "It's a wonder you do not go blind, Will. How can you see anything in this gloom?'

Willow's brow furrowed and she studied her tiny office as though she had not noticed the light levels. A small amount of natural light filtered down from the slit of a window just below the ceiling. The overcast skies outside and heavy grill covering the glass combined to make it smaller still. In response to Faith's question Willow shrugged, she could see everything just fine. There were walls of books stacked to the ceiling and more stacked on the floor. In fact, besides the desk and a rag rug on the floor, books were the only real furnishings. There was little else in the room besides a few artefacts that Faith had brought back from her travels around the globe. A Native American dreamcatcher above her desk (as Willow tended to do most of her sleeping there), an assortment of rather wicked looking African war spears stacked in one corner, sever idols crammed into available nooks on the shelves and a cavalry sabre that had been in Willow's family for generations in pride of place above the doorway.

"I have excellent eyesight," Willow answered quickly. Her mannerisms were decidedly furtive and her gaze kept twitching back to the manuscript in front of her. "What do you want?"

Faith arched an eyebrow. She knew exactly what that tone in Willow's voice indicated. Whatever it was that she was working on had engrossed her to the point where she could not bear to be interrupted. "A better question is what is so important that it could keep you from coming to see me off before I leave for the dark and mysterious depths of Eastern Europe from which I may never return?" Faith fired the question back at Willow.

Willow looked decidedly guilty in response, "I'm sorry…these texts are fascinating-"

"Yes I know, 'these texts were so fascinating that I could not draw myself away to say farewell to my dearest friend,'" Faith imitated Willow's scholarly tone. "How do you think that makes me feel? I could be killed out there!"

"As if anything could kill you," Willow muttered. "Hell would just spit you back out again."

With a scowl, Faith reached down and grabbed Willow's wrist in order to haul her up and out of her seat. Willow protested only at the movement of her crooked and stiffened limbs. She was made to move much too fast, too soon but Faith did not seem to notice or care.

Willow's office may have been in the basement of the British Museum but there were other levels deeper down and far more private than her little den. This was where Faith now led her. They went into the warrens where the majority of their department was based far away from the ordinary employees who thought the British Museum was just that – a museum. A solitary black-coated man let them through a rather rickety looking elevator at the end of a dark corridor. To an outsider, it looked like the repository for the Museum's garbage. It was an appearance that was carefully cultivated through neglect. All who needed to know knew that there was one spot in the elevator's wooden floor that was completely rotten.

If anyone asked Willow or Faith what their department was actually called they would simply reply 'The Department of Oddities' and not offer any further explanation. However Faith once went as far to reply to one dismissive curator that it was the department of 'phenomena that everyone else ignores.' Both Willow and Faith liked that particular explanation as it summed up the truth of their world quite nicely. No one else wanted to believe that creatures such as vampires, demons and ghouls walked the shadows of the world. Faith had saved countless people from a hideous death and they had been none the wiser for it and not in the least bit grateful. On one particularly memorable occasion Willow's research and Faith's brawn had saved the world from the hell god, Ataxerxes. Together they had prevented his resurrection and subsequent storms of fire and brimstone. Once again the rest of the world had not paused to notice save for a page two reference in The Times to the wanton vandalism of an ancient Persian tomb. Faith had destroyed the tomb in order to prevent a repeat performance five thousand years later.

The corridors two floors below ground were much the same as those above - although of course they lacked any natural light. An abundant smattering of paintings covered the walls in an attempt to compensate for lack of a view. While picturesque landscapes could have served this purpose, most of the paintings were of old men in stiff, formal poses. There was one particular painting of the formidable 'Abraham Van Helsing' that Willow hated to look at. 'Old Abe' as Faith called him, unnerved Willow every time she passed. Faith also teased her mercilessly about her resemblance to the old man. Willow could see very little of this other than that they both had bright green eyes.

Willow passed old 'Abe' now. He appeared to be staring down his nose at her just as he always did. She turned up her own nose in defiance as she passed and gratefully followed Faith through a door bearing a heavy brass plaque stating, 'Implements and Inventions.' Someone had affixed a ratty piece of paper above the plaque bearing a single name. _Dr Rupert Giles_.

"Faith, Willow! Come in, come in!" The very man himself greeted them warmly as soon as they entered.

They both heard his welcoming voice, but they could not see him in the gloom. The room was in complete darkness. Willow shivered as the shadows pressed in on her from all sides. She hated the dark. Subconsciously she began edging backwards towards the door and the lit corridor outside. Icy fingers gripped her arm and she yelped audibly. Spinning around she found a shadowy figure that looked very much like Myles Cavendish. She could faintly see the young man's white teeth as he grinned at her.

A beam of light suddenly cut through the darkness, and then a second. Willow shielded her eyes with her fingers as it shone directly into her eyes.

"Giles, what is that?" Faith asked with some excitement, Willow saw her move forward to the source of the light.

"Master Myles, the lights if you please." Giles waved the beam in Myles' face.

Willow sighed with relief as the room was once again light up completely to reveal Giles perched on his stool behind his work desk. He held in his hands two metal tubes with bulbs at one end. A small switch on the side was flicked and the bulbs went out.

"I call it a beamlight. Some chap was designing a decorative device for potted plants. It would never make any money of course…but I saw its potential for this!" Giles waved one of his tube devices excitedly. "A simple tube containing batteries connected to a bulb. The original zinc-carbon batteries ran down too quickly but I simply switched them to ones of my own creation with an alkaline/manganese core and voila, portable electric light for all those dark places."

"Great idea…stupid name," Faith commented as she accepted the pair that Giles handed her.

"Here's one for you too, Willow," Giles passed another of his little tubes across the table.

Willow nodded her thanks and looked down at the portable light, for someone who was afraid of the dark, it was a perfect gift.

Willow shared a close relationship with the inventor. She thought of him as a father figure, although would never actually admit it to him. In truth she had spent more time with him than her own father and had known him almost as long. Giles had been her very first tutor, or rather, her brother's tutor. At first she had hid in the closet during James's lessons, listening and learning as best she could. Eventually an inadvertent sneeze had given her away. Rather than banish her from the schoolroom, Giles had allowed her to stay. He even stood up to her mother's protestations that little girls did not need to receive the same education as boys. As a result, a grateful Willow had received lessons in Greek, Latin and the Classics. Even when Giles was dismissed shortly after her brother's death, he remained in contact throughout her childhood and on into adolescence. He would send her books on archaeology, puzzles and ciphers for her to work out, and translation lessons to complete and post back to him for marking. While Willow continued to have a succession of tutors appointed by her mother, her real learning took place through the post.

She did not see Giles again until she was seventeen. Giles approached her parents with the suggestion that she attend Girton College, the first residential college for women in England. Willow remained uncertain exactly why her father had taken up Giles' suggestion and allowed her to enrol in the College. Public opinion was largely to deny women access to higher education and her parents had never been particularly enlightened. Giles himself remained close-mouthed on the conversation that had taken place between him and her father. For someone who enjoyed unravelling mysteries as much as Willow, it was a source of constant irritation.

The College taught women on the same level as men although they were not allowed to take degrees. Willow had however excelled in every subject and examination. Still, she had prepared herself to face the realities of her sex upon leaving the college at the age of twenty. She did not expect to find gainful employment of any kind, let alone an occupation as stimulating and with as much scope as the one in which she found herself. Giles had once again stepped in with an invitation to work in the Department of Oddities at the British Museum. While Willow had found her initial induction into the Department's weird and dangerous doings hard to stomach, she soon found that it was still just research…although infinitely more fascinating.

"Willow doesn't need a bloody light!" Faith protested as she saw Giles pass one to Willow. "She doesn't leave London let alone travel to the dark places I do!"

"Faith," Giles growled. "Stop being ungrateful. Besides, I've several other items here that might also interest you."

As Faith allowed herself to be distracted by a self-loading crossbow that fired silver bolts, Willow and Myles found an immense amount of enjoyment in trying out the beamlight. The two acted like children as they crawled beneath the benches in Giles' office and discovered all manner of discarded bits and bobs on the floor with the light. Giles did not even notice their antics until he had finished loading Faith's bag full of weird instruments almost half an hour later. He glanced up to see Myles and Willow poking and prodding at a glass jar containing a large, pink, gelatinous object swimming a clear liquid.

"You two, put that down!" he squeaked, practically leaping across the distance that separated him from the two troublemakers.

"What is it?" Myles asked in fascination, allowing Giles to take the jar out of his hands.

"The heart of a Cretan Minotaur," Giles replied. "He now stalks the halls of the British Museum as a ghost, slicing the hands off little boys who touch things that they ought not to!"

Willow giggled at the horrified look on Myles' face and turned her attention back to Faith, who was strapping up the hefty bag Giles had given her. She put on her best apologetic expression as Faith noticed she was looking and glanced across at her.

"Faith," Willow began in a small voice. "I'm awfully sorry about how rude I was earlier but I was wondering if you would be able-"

"Yes Willow, I will bring you back as many books as I can carry," Faith did not even need to hear the rest of the researcher's question to know exactly what it was she would ask for. "Satisfied?"

"Yes, very…safe travels, Faith," Willow said sincerely. "I guess we'll see you when you get back…with an armload of books."

"Don't get up to any mischief while I'm gone…either of you!" Faith warned, pointing her finger at Willow and Myles in turn.

Faith took a few last minute instructions from Giles before she hefted the bag onto her shoulder. Willow did not doubt that she would soon see the brunette strolling through the exact same door with a plethora of new tales to tell…and hopefully a few new books from a forgotten library. As Faith left, she spied a thin volume on Giles' desk with a promising title and began flipping through it.

Myles glanced up at Willow as Faith shut the door behind her. He poked her in the arm to get her to look up from the book she was browsing.

"Don't you want to ride off with her?" asked Myles with clear longing in his voice. "Just once?"

"Absolutely not," Willow replied promptly. "There's more than enough adventure for me in here."

"Well, it seems awfully exciting to me," Myles sighed wistfully. "But then the most exciting thing I usually get to do is polish the swords."

Myles picked up a wickedly sharp looking dagger with a carved handle inset with rubies and absently picked at the wooden desk beneath it.

"And that's all you'll be doing for the rest of your very short young life if you do not stop gouging holes in my table!" Giles snapped yet again, he then saw Willow trying to hide one of his books behind her back in order to sneak it out with her. "Out with the both of you…out!"

* * *

On the Sunday of that same week, Willow found herself standing on the top step of a quaint, well-proportioned terrace house owned by Ira and Sheila Rosenberg. She reached up to knock on the pale blue door but paused before she brought knuckles down. In truth, she was contemplating turning around again. Willow sighed. That would only delay the inevitable. In order to play the part of dutiful daughter, she had to actually spend time with her parents once in a while no matter how unpleasant the task was. Besides, she had donned a skirt for the occasion so she thought she may as well torture herself further.

Willow knocked on the door twice and barely had to wait two seconds before a stiff backed butler swung it open to allow her entrance. She had barely placed a foot over the threshold when she was engulfed by a tiny storm in mauve taffeta and white lace. Willow drew in a huge gulp of air before arms went around her neck and threatened to strangle her. It seemed like an eternity as the taffeta clad strangler danced around her much too enthusiastically. On the verge of passing out, Willow was forced to push the miniature storm away and hold it at arms length.

"Mother, please!" Willow cried in desperation.

SheilaRosenberg finally accepted that her daughter did not appreciate the over-enthusiastic greeting and allowed her a minimal amount of breathing space. She did however maintain a strong grip on Willow's elbow as though fearing she might run away again.

Shelia carried the same shade of red hair as her daughter. However, while Willow's hair sat straight and plain down to her shoulders; her mother's was piled atop her head in an elaborate mass of curls in an attempt to add height. Where Willow had hardly any meat on her bones, Sheila was in danger of having too much. Her bosom strained against the taffeta trying to keep it at bay. She carried with her the faint but sickly aroma of chocolate and candied fruit as well as far too much apple blossom fragrance in an effort to disguise the former.

"You'll forgive your mother won't you, Wilhelmina. We don't see you very often!" Sheila beamed, rosy cheeks sparkling as she sized her daughter up.

Willow sighed heartily at the sound of her given name. "I prefer Willow…everyone else I know is more than happy to use it."

"Well your father and I are not 'everyone!'" Sheila replied shortly, for some reason she was pinching the flesh on Willow's upper arm. "No parent in their right mind would call their child Willow."

Willow had to physically fight her own body to stop herself from stomping her foot in angry exclamation as she had done so many times as child. The urge was fixed by turning her left foot inwards and standing on her own right foot.

"Well I feel like a Willow," Willow replied resolutely.

She suddenly noticed just how hard her mother was squeezing and she yanked her arm away. Sheila looked slightly take aback by the vehemence of Willow's reaction but she brushed it off with a small chuckle as though Willow was just being silly.

"You're awfully skinny darling, are you not eating? It's a good thing cook has prepared the most sumptuous meal because you are in danger of fading into nothing!"

Willow nodded as though she were looking forward to the meal although in truth eating with her mother always ruined her appetite. Sheila was in the habit of talking constantly throughout the meal, barely giving Willow a chance to take a bite of anything before demanding conversation. Having grown up in such company, it was why Willow now preferred to eat alone.

Sheila led Willow through the house, all the while talking in an animated voice. Willow paid scant attention but all she was really required to do was nod at appropriate moments and largely agree with her mother's every word.

"Colonel!" Shelia bellowed suddenly as they entered the formal dining room. "Colonel!"

Despite Sheila's bellows, Ira Rosenberg did not see fit to join his wife and daughter until they were halfway through the first course. He did not appear to be the sort of man who would be ordered about by his wife. He too was of small stature but rather that compensate with his hair, of which he had none, Ira made up for it with his bearing. He carried himself with the military precision possessed only by someone who had spent the greater part of his life in the army. For nearly thirty years he had served in Her Majesty's Army, making a name for himself in the colonies and eventually being given a staff post in India. It was in India that he met Sheila, who was a High Commissioner's daughter, and where his two children were born. It was only with great reluctance that he retired and returned to England for his son's education. His military background persisted into civilian life and he was always referred to as 'Colonel,' even by his own wife.

He now paused to deposit the barest graze of a kiss on Willow's cheek with a murmured, "Daughter."

Willow caught a whiff of brandy as he leaned in close; it had always been present but now smelt stronger than ever.

"Good evening, Father," she replied. She was never able to bring herself to call her own father 'Colonel.'

Ira quickly moved to his seat at the head of the table without a further glance in his daughter's direction. Willow sighed discreetly and ate another spoonful of the rich and creamy chicken soup; it was tasteless in her mouth.

The courses then flew by in a whirl of one-sided conversation. Sheila was exceptionally gifted at getting her point across with her mouth full and another forkful on the way. Willow just shifted her food around on her plate with her fork and felt what little she had eaten start to congeal in her stomach.

Willow desperately wanted to escape after dinner but before she knew what was happening her mother had ushered her into the sitting room and left her with no choice but to sit down. She deliberately chose the most uncomfortable chair in the room so as not to fall asleep when Sheila began plying her with suggestions of potential husbands, describing the merits of each in great detail. Her mother poured a large glass of red wine for herself and took a hefty gulp before starting on an all too familiar rant.

"Now that young Swainson lad, he's five years younger than you but I don't think he can afford to be picky with skin like his. Now he would make a fine match. His family are involved in wool in Wiltshire and have a fine estate just outside of Westbury. It is Westbury isn't it Colonel?" Sheila craned her neck in her husband's direction but was nonplussed by his resulting bored shrug. "Well, I'm sure it's Westbury. That wouldn't be too far for the Colonel and I to come and visit often."

Willow nodded in response, she was sure the 'Swainson lad' was nice enough whether he had skin problems or not, she was just not in the least bit excited by the prospect of marriage. The thought of her parents 'visiting often' almost brought on a small fit.

"Oooh!" Sheila exclaimed with delight and clapped her hands together as though she had just won at bridge. "Sir Joseph Pharazyn's wife died last month in childbirth. The poor thing was always a bit frail. It's a bit too soon to make a move now but perhaps next month we can invite ourselves to Banbury for tea. I've heard his children are very well-behaved, not that you have to worry about the children, that's what nannies are for."

Willow was sure that she had heard her mother state on several occasions that the seven Pharazyn children were horrid little devils. Although Willow had nothing against children, she did not think she could handle seven children - spawn of the devil or not.

Sheila pursed her lips together thoughtfully as she considered further options. "There's always Sir Joseph's brother, Robert Pharazyn. You've met him have you not?"

"He stole my copy of Thucydides when we were ten," Willow growled as though it was the worst crime anyone could commit. "I haven't spoken to him since."

"That's wonderful dear, so you two will have something in common. I've heard he will be at the Barton's party next week where they're announcing Beth's engagement. Honestly, I don't know how a trollop like that could have landed a nice young man like Matthew Phelps. She is awfully homely…still, I suppose her dowry was twenty-thousand pounds and the Phelp's have never recovered from the old man's gambling debts." Sheila paused as though she had lost her train of thought. "Where was I? Oh, Robert…yes, you will have to attend the Barton's party. We should go to Crozier's this week to size you up for a new gown. I'm sure those ones I had made for you last season will hang on your body like sacks as you've lost so much weight."

Willow glanced downwards, quite sure that she was exactly the same size as she had been the previous year. In fact, she did not think she had gone up or down a size in the past ten years. Once she'd hit fifteen, she had stopped growing in any direction.

"I'm not much for parties," Willow managed to squeeze a word in as her mother took another gulp of wine. "I think-"

"Nonsense, where else are you supposed to get noticed!" Sheila cried.

"Well-" Willow wanted to say that she would prefer it if no one ever noticed her but Sheila had other ideas.

"You're actually quite pretty, Wilhelmina. It's a pity that red hair is definitely not in fashion but that never prevented me from being snapped up by your father."

Ira did not even look up from his copy of The Times, he merely grunted.

"If you did something with your wretchedly awful hair and applied some more colour to your face…you would have no trouble in attracting scores of men. You're twenty-six-"

"Twenty-five," Willow corrected quietly.

Sheila did not miss a beat, "-and sooner or later people will start calling you a spinster to your face. They already do behind you back and how it vexes me so! It's a reflection on me as much as you."

Willow quite liked the idea of being labelled a spinster. Women in her mother's circle said the term in the same tone of voice as they might say 'leper' and she liked the prospect of being untouchable. Perhaps then her mother would leave all this talk of marriage and move onto more sensible topics of conversation like politics and war. Willow glanced across to her father, longing to discuss with him the major military build up in the Cape Colony and the likely prospect of another war. Instead he remained immersed in his paper. She turned her attention back to Sheila as she poured another glass of wine.

"Mother, I think I should-" Willow was tired. The few hours she had spent in her mother's company had exhausted her supply of patience for the day.

"Or what about Foster's son, you know him," Sheila gestured at her husband with her wine glass. "Foster served in the 107th with you didn't he Colonel?"

"Captain Merriwether Foster? He had no backbone whatsoever," Ira grumbled over the top of the fourth page of _The Times. _It was his only addition to the conversation. "I won't have my daughter marrying the son of a coward!"

Sheila shrugged and took another long gulp from her glass before continuing with a list of further names.

On the whole Ira Rosenberg said very little. He remained seated on the very edge of his chair as he read his paper. It gave him the appearance of someone about to get up and leave at any time. He did not attempt to hide the fact that he wanted this torment to be over as soon as possible. It would not have bothered Willow so much if she did not remember sitting on his lap while he spoke of his adventures in the East, of foreign sights and rich spices. She could not remember exactly what he said, but always she would plead, "Tell us more Daddy!" The 'us' was referring to herself and her brother. James was three years her elder and the apple of her father's eye. He often sat straight-backed on his stool in a manner imitating his father but always had patience for his sister. When Willow was nine, the serious but kind-hearted boy was suddenly struck with a wasting illness. Over a matter of several months, the healthy young boy steadily drained of life. Willow remembered that awful time as though it had been yesterday. All the colour and life drained from the house and her childhood with James' deteriorating health. When her brother died, both Ira and Sheila Rosenberg were forever changed. Unable to live through his son, Ira retreated into the glory days of his past. Seemingly removing herself from all responsibilities as a mother, Sheila became self-centred and intent on allowing herself enough food and drink to satisfy an entire household.

Willow had then grown up under the care of a succession of nannies and tutors, most being driven away by her mother fairly quickly. It had been a lonely childhood until Willow remembered that she had all the friends she could ever want between the pages of books. She devoured every written word that her eyes fell upon. She had long since out grown simple children's stories. Behind the door of her father's study lay an entire world waiting to be discovered. There the young girl had wandered Ancient Greece with Odysseus, fled the fall of Troy with Aeneas, journeyed to the centre of the Earth with Verne and by the age of ten was grappling with Tolstoy's Russia. She suspected that her father had sent her to Girton not out of any progressive sentiments, but simply because he could see that she would not make a good wife for any man. She was already wed to knowledge. Sheila however, had never come to this realisation and persisted in her match-making efforts much to Willow's disgust. She had even invited potential suitors to dine with them until Willow had refused to come to dinner unless the practice was discontinued.

Willow was saved from further humiliation on this occasion by the Rosenberg's butler entering with a tray of assorted chocolates. Shelia rubbed her hands together gleefully at the sight of the sweets. As she shovelled several in her mouth at once there was finally a pause in the conversation long enough for Willow to finally announce that she was leaving. It drew a most predictable response from her mother.

"But Wilhelmina darling, stay and have a drink with us!" Shelia pleaded even as she continued to chomp on the sweets crammed in her mouth.

Sheila rose from her couch and stumbled a little on her plump legs as she reached out to Willow. As the wine glass in her hand swayed dangerously, the antique Persian at her feet was saved only by the fact that the wine remaining in the glass was barely a stain at the bottom. Quite disgusted at her mother's lack of restraint, Willow took a noticeable step backwards in the direction of the door. She watched as her mother implored her with chocolate stained fingers. Her father remained seated, back stiff as a ramrod, on his perch. Willow knew that he did not care if she left. As soon as she was gone he would banish his wife to her own parlour and retire to his library to relive his life in India by drowning himself in brandy and smoking several thick cigars.

"I don't think so, Mother, you've had quite enough for the both of us," Willow replied bravely, further digging the grave marked for an ungrateful child.

Not normally driven to outright disrespect, Willow's nerves were completely frayed by the extended audience with her parents. For someone who relished solitude, being in the company of Shelia Rosenberg was like being in a crowd with everyone trying to talk at once.

Only the sound of such disrespectful words could have moved Ira Rosenberg to join in a conversation in which he had wanted no part. Talk of marriage was best left to his wife; his only part would be to bestow the blessing on a future son in law.

"You will apologise to your mother, Wilhemina," Ira rumbled quietly, stabbing his finger in Willow's direction.

Willow knew for a fact that her father expected his answer post haste. However, though the words were already on her lips, she found they would not come. Instead, she stared at the squat little man with his chin thrust forward, waiting for her to utter the apology and felt rebellion creep into her body. She knew full well that she should fight such thoughts down, keep them under control, but she was so tired of playing the dutiful daughter when her parents gave her absolutely nothing in return…nothing except an awful headache.

"I am sorry Mother-" as Willow began she saw her father nod approvingly, "but I was just speaking the truth, you do drink too much and I for one would wish you to stop."

"Wilhemina!" Ira gasped angrily.

Willow turned on her father. "You would wish her to stop too…if only you actually cared."

As she turned to leave, Willow could hear Ira's teeth grinding and her mother making little strangled noises as she struggled to draw a proper breath. She half expected her father to physically stop her from leaving and demand a second, sincere apology. However she made her escape without a further confrontation. As soon as she was out of that stifling room, Willow ran the rest of the way to the front door and out of the house. Once outside she slowed to a fast walk, but she did not turn and look back.

Without realising it Willow's feet did not take her back to her little flat as she had originally intended. Instead she found herself tracing a path that she rarely used. She walked past the brightly lit windows of London's finest stores on Oxford Street. She dodged strolling couples uncomfortably, feeling as though their eyes were always on her. Men in suits tipped their bowler hats to her and most often she barely managed a shy smile in return as she scurried past. Willow thought of her homey flat and wondered again why on earth she was walking the streets of London alone. She could have been tucked up with the Thomas Hardy novel that she had been trying to find the time to read.

Her internal question was answered several minutes later when she found herself standing in exactly the same spot in which she had stood the previous afternoon. She surveyed the park. It was no longer lit up with bright sunshine. Instead the long shadows of late afternoon were descending. Something strange on one of the benches caught her eye. When she began to walk across the park, she felt an odd shiver run down her spin. Willow's eyes widened in surprise – there, sitting on the park bench exactly where she had left it in such a hurry, was her tin lunch box. She crossed to the bench and picked the favourite lunch box up with some relief. Her fingers traced its familiar lines as though there was something about it that was different. The feeling was so intense that she half expected to find something odd concealed inside. All she found were a few sandwich crumbs.

Willow rapped her knuckles on the lid of the box – it made a hollow sound in the almost empty park. When a few passers by scurried past her as though she were quite mad, Willow realised that she had been staring at the spot where she had seen the mysterious blonde woman. Her lips parted slightly as she drew in a breath, trying to work out a rational explanation for her actions. Rather than accept the possibility that she'd walked several blocks to stare at a spot where a stranger had once stood, Willow concluded that she had come to find her lunchbox.

_You've got your lunchbox, Willow_, she thought, tucking the ordinary tin box under her arm. _There's absolutely no other reason for you to be standing in the park…alone…and it's getting dark._

As Willow made her second hasty exit from the park in as many days, she too began to believe that she was quite mad. She glanced up ahead and saw the one place where she knew she could restore her sanity and put what had been an awful day behind her. At 5.30pm on a Sunday evening, Willow Rosenberg ducked through the employee's entrance to the British Museum. The security guards and cleaners greeted her warmly as she passed by on her way down to her basement. While Willow managed a smile for each, she did not stop until she reached her office. Only when the door was closed firmly behind her did she start to feel ordinary once more. The papers on her desk beckoned like old friends and she eagerly sat down to bury herself in something she could actually understand.

Myles found her still at her desk in the morning when he started work - sprawled fast asleep across her papers with an ink-stained thumb.


	3. Of the Sapphist Persuasion

**Chapter Three  
Of the Sapphist Persuasion**

_5th November 1777_

_I know I am getting ahead of myself but my mother is insufferable! She cornered me as I was reading in the sitting room this evening. In truth I was not reading at all. Although I am usually quite fond of the Bard's work I was more profitably engaged in the study of a small portrait I had tucked between the pages. I had been tracing the familiar chin and lingering over those perfectly proportioned lips which, though they were pursed together in a sombre manner, I imagined them curling up into one of her fantastically warm smiles. For all the talent of the artist, the portrait could never do her justice. The locks were not red enough, nor her eyes as green. I have not seen her since September but her eyes burn as brightly in my mind as though I saw them just yesterday. (It is this horrid weather which keeps us all indoors and starved of parties or picnics, or any other opportunity I might have to see her!)._

_I was forced to snap my worn little volume closed as my mother approached. She did not announce herself until she was almost on top of me. Her immediate conversation came across a little forced. She inquired what I was reading, to which I replied, 'As You Like It.' I noticed her dismissive glance at the mention of the comedy, I suppose she would rather have me reading something dreary like 'Romeo and Juliet.' I rather wickedly added that I very much enjoyed Rosalind in her mannish disguise and her expression became distraught indeed. At that moment I realised what deceitful daughter I was, concealing the truth of my feelings for another woman from my own mother who has naught but my best interests at heart. _

_She then proceeded to drill me at length on Edward Walsh's merits. By the end of her speech even I thought that he was some saint. Perhaps he was George in his shining armour slaying dragons and winning the hearts of fair maidens. However as she continued, with fervour in her voice that frightened me, I began to see through her words for the fakery they were. It is a sad day indeed when a young lady realises that she can no longer depend on the council of her mother. _

_I began to see just how serious she was about the whole Edward affair when I dared question her careful plans. I merely suggested that Edward may not be the one for me. It was suddenly as though the very fires of hell had been unleashed. She swiftly moved from listing Edward's merits to naming me an 'ungrateful wretch.' From what I could then gather of the torrent of words flowing from her lips, it was my duty to marry well in order to salvage the last scraps of the Maclay reputation. Her words did shock me somewhat. While I was aware that money was perhaps not as abundant as it ought to be, I was not aware that father's debts had eaten into almost everything. Mother made it clear that my marriage to Edward was not just a formality but a necessity. When Edward asked me to marry him I would say yes. There was no other answer to give. Until then I would attend functions on his arm, hang on his every word and be in all outward appearances the model of a perfect young lady. Mother was in tears by the time she had finished and my own eyes burned fiercely. With Willow's portrait concealed within my volume of Shakespeare, I made a hasty exit from the room lest I say anything that would cause my mother further heartache. As I made my way through the house I felt oppressed, as though the very walls were conspiring against me. _

_I felt suffocated. I ran to my bedroom window and threw it open. I shivered as a cold blast of winter air hit me like a wall. I gazed out into the darkness that surrounded the house and willed the wind to carry me away. I imagined soaring away from my mother and the walls of the house which I now saw as my prison. It would carry me over field, stream and wood until I reached Hagley Park. W would be waiting for me there. I would fall into her arms and never again dwell on the thought of being forced to marry Edward Walsh. It was a simple wish, just for two people to be together._

_The harder that I wished this miracle would occur, the more freely hot tears splashed onto my cheeks. They lingered there for but a second before being driven away by the wind. It did not pick me up and take me away. I was left standing at the window with the curtains whipping into frenzy around my body. I cursed my fate to be born into such a cruel world, a world that forced people to marry against their wishes and not for love. _

_I curse the world still. More anon diary, for I cannot write another sentence on this night._

* * *

Willow's brow was furrowed and the very tip of her pink tongue protruded from her lips. Both were signs of intense concentration. Her white shirt sleeves were rolled back, up over her elbows and her waist coat hung open in a relaxed fashion. She worked a pencil across a sheet of paper in front of her, pausing every few moments to review her work before continuing. As the time passed the lines spreading across the paper formed into a shape from her memory. It was an image that burned behind her eyes, even almost two months after seeing it for the first time.

The furrowed brow deepened when she was not happy with some aspect. She picked up her eraser and wiped a portion of the drawing from the page before continuing. Her pencil worked for a few more minutes before she held the end of it in her lips to free up her fingers and create shading. She smeared the pencil with her fingertips at appropriate points and the pencil between her lips swayed with her movements.

The tip of her index finger blackened, Willow retrieved her pencil from between her lips and added a few more necessary touches. A small smile spread across her face as the sketch neared completion. Willow paused again, drawn before her was an almost perfect representation of the woman she had seen in the park.

She could not begin to explain it, but even two months after their fleeting encounter she could not forget the pale stranger. Although had lasted mere minutes in one day of her busy life, Willow felt as though their meeting had some sort of significance. A week after the meeting she had tried to shrug it off with the simple explanation that the woman was exceptionally beautiful, why would she not create a lasting impression? Two weeks later and the stranger was still on Willow's mind, interfering with her research and whatever personal time she had. When she slept, she would see her face. In the absence of a name or a voice, her face was all Willow had. Two months later, her symptoms had not changed and the desire to know more was driving her insane.

Willow could not bring herself to develop the photograph she had taken of the woman on her Kodak. As much as she wanted to, she felt as though she had violated the woman's privacy. However, at the same time, she could not bring herself to destroy the roll of film. It was tucked away at the back of the bottom drawer of her desk - hidden but not forgotten.

"Our intrepid adventurer returns!"

An irreverent yell burst through her concentration by scaring the living daylights out of her. Willow jumped sharply, stabbing the lead of her pencil down so hard that the lead snapped off. She stared with irritation at the resulting dark spot on her portrait but was thankful it had not been on the nose or anywhere else noticeable. As the whirlwind that was Myles Cavendish entered her office, Willow shoved the scrap of paper beneath a partially unravelled scroll. She turned and was pleasantly surprised to see a second person following the young man.

"Miss me?" Faith swept into the room, still clad in her dusty riding leathers and a badly rumpled travelling jacket.

"Faith!" Willow greeted her friend with genuine warmth even as she gave Myles an annoyed glare for his spontaneous and unannounced entrance.

She scraped her chair back and stood to join the others. Willow took one look at Faith's dirty clothing and neatly sidestepped any potential embrace.

"I'm not touching you until you've changed!" Willow yelped as Faith back her up against her chair.

Faith glanced down. She was covered, as much as she could see, in dust as well as a generous splattering of mud. Her boots were caked in the stuff and small clumps had been tracked across Willow's rug. When she glanced back up she was pleased to see that Willow was so pre-occupied with her return, she had not noticed the accompanying mud.

She did of course realise that much of Willow's preoccupation was not to do with her own presence, but rather the satchel which was thrown over her shoulder. Willow had her eyes fixed on it, shifting from one foot to another as though she were about to launch into a dance.

"Before your head explodes-" Faith began as she swung the satchel from her shoulder so she could open it. "The library was mostly empty-"

"Empty!" Willow cried in despair, it was as though her entire world had just come crashing down. "How could it have been empty? Was it cleared out by thieves or perhaps Dracula's…I mean Vlad's cohorts?"

"The church I believe," Faith replied quickly, not wanting to prolong Willow's distress. "There were several painted inscriptions on the walls to ward off evil spirits. I tried to glean additional information but there was little to be had other than that every scrap of parchment may have been burned almost 150 years ago. No evidence of fire with the actual ruins of the monastery itself, or the library so I would say they had it taken away."

"They burned the books," Willow whispered in abject horror, there was hardly a more heinous crime in her opinion.

Faith flipped open her satchel and withdrew an armload of leather folders and several books. "Will, calm down, all was not lost. I discovered a secret compartment and within lay these. I had not the opportunity to discern their contents but I hope they at least make up for some of your disappointment."

Willow accepted the armload gratefully. "Well, I don't know if any small amount of material will compensate for burnt books…but thank you."

Willow scanned through the leather folders which all held sheets of parchment covered in a foreign scrawl. She instantly noted that most were in Latin, with a few more exciting prospects bearing the runic Rovas script native to Hungary. Those folders she set down on her desk and scanned the book titles. Of the four that Faith had brought back with her, two were account books, one was a library catalogue – a cruel reminder of what had been lost – and the other was an anomaly.

"It's a diary," Willow said with a small frown flipping the fourth book over in her hands

"I know, I had a quick look at it," Faith nodded. "The initial text is in English and most of the dates I can make out are all in the eighteenth century so I'm not at all sure how it even came to be at Tirgsor…not to mention hidden in a secret compartment with papers of real historical significance. It merely seems to be sentimental feminine rubbish."

Willow was flipping through the diary as Faith spoke, scanning dates and noting that it was written in a clear, almost elegant hand.

"It mostly appears to be talking about marriage…as you would expect of an eighteenth century woman's diary," Faith continued with a dismissive shrug.

"A woman's diary!" Myles craned his neck to catch a better glimpse of the worn volume. "Are there any naughty bits?"

"You wouldn't know a naughty bit if I slapped you in the face with it, Myles," Faith cuffed the lad lightly over the back of his head.

"I agree-" Willow began. "About the marriage talk I mean, not Myles' naughty bits. Although the text changes half-way through and I can't decipher it. It's not any language I'm familiar with, or can recognise - which is strange as I can recognise most," Willow voice betrayed her slight professional annoyance at not being able to recognise the script. "There's an address inside the front cover though."

Willow flicked the pages aside and looked at the inside of the leather bound cover, it was more than a little strange. There was an address somewhere in Hampshire that she was unfamiliar with, it had been struck out with a single, heavy black line. A small inscription in the same hand followed.

"Dearest W, Farewell - May this token of me provide you some comfort," Willow read aloud before squinting to read the single letter following. "And then what looks like a J…or a T perhaps."

"How bleedin' lovely," Faith commented sarcastically.

"It sounds as though there are naughty bits," Myles added hopefully.

Willow ignored them both and traced her fingers over a second address which followed the inscription. It was written in the same heavy black pen that had struck out the first address. It was an address in London, written in a clear and precise hand that Willow immediately admired for its penmanship. She set the diary aside, tossing it on one of her stacks of books that littered the floor before turning her attention back to the real gems Faith had brought.

"This catalogue could keep me going for months, Faith," Willow ran her fingers over the tooled leather cover. "And it's all in Latin, thank goodness, as my Hungarian is awful."

The diary sat forgotten as Willow turned page after page of the catalogue and ignored both Faith and Myles. Faith was looking on indulgently while Myles kept casting covetous at the diary which lay within reach of his fingers. However, Faith was quicker and as he reached out to pick it up she seized his wrist and squeezed tightly.

"Ow!" Myles protested. "I just wanted a little look!"

Faith released her hold on his wrist and he rubbed it gingerly. She knew full well his intention had been to search out any so called 'naughty bits.'

"Myles, it was written in the eighteenth century. I don't think women in those days knew how to be naughty, let alone write about it so I assure you, you're not missing out on anything," Faith placed her hand on the young man's shoulder and gently steered him towards the door. "I think Giles might need some help unwrapping the artefacts I found concealed in the ruins. There is a wicked looking gauntlet covered in spikes that I believe may have belonged to Dracula himself. Just don't try it on…I think it has been bewitched with a possession spell."

Myles' eyes widened as though he could not wait to get his hands on the gauntlet and do exactly what Faith had warned him against - trying it on. He mumbled a few nonsensical words, presumably excusing himself, and left the room at a dead sprint. A few moments later there was a very loud crash somewhere down the hallway and an angry voice condemning all boys who did not look where they were going to the depths of hell.

With Myles safely out of the picture in Giles' capable hands, Faith could now focus her attention on Willow. Her friend had had returned to her chair while she had been talking to Myles and was now looking up at her with wide eyes. Faith quickly realised that Willow was not waiting for her to deliver any further information from her trip or simply have a friendly conversation. Willow was waiting for her to leave so she could get back to her work. She sat poised with her pencil in one hand and the other hand gently holding open a ratty looking scroll. Faith gave an angry snort and reached down to snatch the pencil away. When Willow made a desperate lunge, she hid it behind her back and out of reach.

"What have you been doing with yourself these past months, Will?" Faith asked in a distinctly motherly tone of voice, betraying her sincere concern for her friend. "You look bloody awful…and stop looking at my hand like that; you're not getting your pencil back anytime soon!"

"I just haven't been sleeping well lately." Willow shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. "It's nothing serious, my mind has just been working so much I find it hard to relax. It's just a phase and will pass in time."

Faith pursed her lips together. "And I'm sure you also haven't been eating, nor taking walks outside? Honestly, Will, I don't know how many times I have to tell you to look after yourself."

"It's nice to know you care-" Willow began, managed at small smile as she was truly touched by her friend's concern.

"Damn right I care!" Faith interrupted, lunging forward to plant both her arms around Willow's shoulders, despite her dirty clothing. "Your parents don't seem to give you a second thought – except when Sheila is trying to marry you off - and you certainly don't seem to care about yourself either."

When Faith pulled back a few moments later, Willow's cheeks carried a slight pinkish tinge. She was definitely unused to being embraced, even by her best friend.

"I'm fine, Faith. Now will you please give the pencil back? I'm in the middle of something very important."

"Only if you tell me what you're working on?" Faith dangled the pencil within Willow's grasp.

"It's nothing," Willow spluttered all too quickly as she retrieved her pencil.

As she moved, she lost her grip on the scroll and the paper snapped back into it tight roll to reveal what was hidden beneath. Willow could not recover the portrait before Faith spied it and snatched it away. Mortified, Willow leapt to her feet intent on recovering the drawing before Faith could examine it closely. A tussle began between the two as Willow tried to grasp at Faith's arm. After avoiding Willow's rather pathetic attempts, Faith reached out and grabbed Willow's flailing hand with her left. In one swift movement she had twisted the small woman's arm around her back.

Willow yelped in pain as Faith held her arm pinned at an uncomfortable angle. She had to cease her struggling or continue to feel as though her shoulder was being popped out of its socket. This left Faith free to examine Willow's pencil sketch with impunity.

"Here I was thinking I'd interrupted some vital departmental research…and all you were really doing was drawing pictures!" Faith chuckled lightly and then let out a low whistle. "So who is she?"

No one," Willow mumbled, feeling her cheeks flaming. In response, Faith cruelly twisted her arm a little higher up her back and she let out another yelp. "Okay, okay…it's a woman I saw-"

"And continue to see?" Faith asked with excitement clearly registering in her voice.

"Saw. Once!" Willow clarified with a strong emphasis on both words. "I just saw her once in the park."

"You saw her once in the park and she made such an impression that you had to sketch her portrait?" Faith asked, this time in disbelief. "And exaggerated more than a little too - no one can be this beautiful. You've got rich tastes, Will."

Now that she had her answers, Faith released her grip on Willow's wrist. Willow reached around Faith and snatched the drawing back. She folded herself back into her chair and set her drawing back down on her desk. With her thumb she smoothed out the wrinkles in the corner where Faith had held it. One finger gently traced the curve of cheek she had drawn in exact imitation of the one she had seen that had remained fixed so boldly within her mind. Just gazing upon that face made her forget any anger she may have felt towards Faith for dragging the truth from her so cruelly. A small laugh even escaped her lips when she realised just how silly she was being.

When Willow kept her head down and did not speak, Faith's brow knotted in concern. She feared that she had dreadfully wounded the red-haired girl's feelings with her tactless and somewhat brutal questioning. Willow's laugh she mistook for a choked sob.

"Willow, I'm awfully sorry, you know me…no manners or anything," Faith felt ridiculous and more than a little stupid. "I'll just go and leave you to…well, whatever it is that you were doing."

"I did not exaggerate," Willow replied quietly as she heard Faith back up towards the door, she swivelled in her seat. "Faith, she was undoubtedly the most beautiful woman I've ever laid eyes upon."

Her smile had morphed into a dreamy sort of expression usually reserved for those smitten with a potential lover. Faith was a little unnerved at first; she had never seen Willow look quite so dopey. However, nor had she seen her look quite so tired and promptly decided that it was her duty to help her friend find this woman.

"I'll help you find her again," Faith promised, pausing in the doorway with one hand resting against the frame.

Managing to drag herself away from the portrait in front of her, Willow swivelled in her chair to face Faith. A sad smile flitted across her tired face. "I don't see the point," she whispered, stifling a yawn that betrayed her exhaustion. "Even if I did find her I wouldn't know what to do…and she certainly wouldn't feel the way I do about her."

"You want to fuck her," Faith added casually.

"Faith!" Willow hissed. Her eyes darted to the door as though every employee of the British Museum were standing there listening in on the most private conversation of her entire life. With her cheeks tinged red to match her hair, Willow studied Faith's expression carefully for traces of anything other that acceptance and friendship. She had never expected to tell another living soul of the way she felt about women, even her best friend. "Faith, I would appreciate if you did not speak of my…inclinations to anyone. If my parents were to find out that I think I am a…sapphist..." The word came out in a barely audible whisper and Willow's cheeks flamed further.

"Would you really care if they did?" Faith interrupted Willow before she could continue with her awkward statement, it was obvious she was hardly surprised by Willow's revelation. "You don't depend on them for a thing…and you certainly wouldn't miss their company."

"I know," Willow replied, biting her lip for a moment. "But they're still my parents…and you really don't care?"

"Why would I care?" Faith replied blithely. Her expression shifted to something a little more serious as she continued, "You're the dearest, kindest, bravest soul that I know and the fact that you've just admitted to me that you want to fuck women only serves to confirm all of that. I love you, you know."

"Faith, I'm not attracted to you…" Willow began slowly.

"You're not? Why ever not?" Faith said in an incredulous and very serious tone, a split second later she burst out laughing. "I meant I love you in a strictly platonic manner."

"Oh," Willow muttered, quite embarrassed. "Thank you."

"And don't worry about your mystery woman. Such matters work themselves out…always," Faith replied encouragingly. "Besides, if you find her and she tells you to bloody leave her alone at least you'll be able to stop mooning about like a sick puppy and get a good night's rest."

Willow smirked with genuine mirth. "You always know how to make a girl feel better."

"You have no idea," Faith winked suggestively, laughing when Willow's cheeks reddened for a second time. "Why don't you go home?"

Willow glanced at her pocket watch and her eyes widened in mock horror. "Leave work at 4pm? Good gracious, Faith, I don't think I've ever been quite so daring."

"Call it a start, you're going to have to get a whole lot more daring in order to ensnare this mystery women of yours," Faith fetched Willow's satchel and coat which, in the absence of a coat stand, were tossed on a stack of books. "You didn't catch her name did you?"

Willow allowed herself to be dragged up out of her chair. She held out her arms as Faith pulled her coat on and even moved to do the buttons up. Although it felt somewhat odd being buttoned up by another adult, Willow found it was comforting in a strange way.

"I've no idea, I feel as though it should be something grand and beautiful to suit her face." Willow tried to imagine what a grand and beautiful name would be but she had no idea. "It is just as likely to be Jane or Anna."

"Well, your first task is to find out her name," Faith decided as she passed Willow's satchel over her head and settled it at her side, "Once we know who she is and what kind of people she comes from...we can work out a plan of attack."

_What if I never see her again?_ was the only thought that ran through Willow's head. She could not bring herself to say it aloud and deflate Faith's optimism.

With an air of finality Faith bodily shoved Willow out of her office. In order to ensure that her work-bound friend did not double back, Faith walked her all the way to her tram stop before leaving to return to work. She muttered something about reporting back to Croft. There was a wicked gleam in her eye not usually associated with reporting that made Willow suspect that Faith knew a little too much about the 'sapphist persuasion' she spoke of earlier.

Willow was left waiting for the next tram, never one to stand still and do nothing she began to feel antsy after only a minute or so of waiting. Although she now did not regret leaving work early, she was slightly miffed that she had forgotten to pick up a stack of papers or a book to while away her tram ride. Digging around in her satchel in the hope of finding something to occupy her mind, her fingers closed on a book spine. She drew it out to find the diary Faith had brought back from Eastern Europe. A small frown creased her forehead; she did not remember ever putting it in her satchel. Not quite knowing why, she flicked it open and found the same notations just inside the cover, the strange dedication and the two addresses. While Hampshire was much too far to walk, Willow again noted that the second address was mere blocks from where she stood waiting for her tram. As Faith's challenge echoed in her head, Willow ignored the approaching tram and made what she thought was a very daring decision indeed.

After a quarter of an hour stroll, Willow had lost much of the rash impulsiveness that had led her to sleuth out the address in the first place. Actually standing in front of the house was an entirely different story. Willow gazed up at the generously sized townhouse towering imposingly above her head and immediately felt intimidated by the austere façade. The stone used was a steely grey and in the dull light of a winter's afternoon it appeared almost black. There was little ornamentation of any form save for the ivy which dared to creep up the left side just above the ground floor windows. Three floors rose up from the ground before the sharply pitched tile roof angled away from her. Several dark gable windows punctured the roof's surface. She imagined the writer of the diary to be inside, bent over a writing desk and still scribbling madly.

_1777…even if they lived until they were old and wrinkled they'd be long dead…_

Willow shivered, the house itself unnerved her despite the light shining from several of the windows. Although someone obviously lived there, Willow felt as though the house should be empty. She couldn't quite place the exact feeling, but it was of one of emptiness…emptiness and waiting.

_Just my luck that the person who owns it now will be one step away from the asylum_ Willow shuddered at the thought of some wizened old creature, starved of company, inviting her in for tea and never letting her leave again.

Willow was still plucking up the courage to approach and knock on the massive black door when she glanced upwards once more. A chill seized her entire frame. A pale white face stared at her from a dark gable high above. With her blood pounding in her ears, Willow fought for calm but it would not come. Although the glance lasted seconds before she wrenched her eyes away, Willow could not remember exactly what she had seen other than that she knew it was a face, and it had been looking directly at her. There was no question of her knocking on the door now.

_Hello…I'm Willow Rosenberg, you don't know me but is the ghost that lives in your attic friendly?_

Before she knew quite what she was doing, her feet were pounding on the pavement. The chill did not leave her body as she ran the entire distance between the house and her tram stop. Even when she was on the next tram, her body pressed against a seat warmed from a previous body, Willow could not shake the cold fear brought about by the house. She immediately made up her mind not to tell Faith. To flee as fast as possible from a common, run of the mill ghost was a case for tarring and feathering in Faith's book. Or even worse, she could have been running from the sight of a child playing in the attic. Willow felt exceptionally foolish and even more resigned to the fact that she was not suited to fieldwork.

Something crawled between her shoulder blades. Willow felt as though she were still being watched - although by what she had no idea.


	4. The Reluctant Field Agent

**CHAPTER FOUR  
The Reluctant Field Agent**

_26__th__ November 1777_

_This should have been one of the happiest days of my life, of any young lady's life. So why then do I feel a melancholia settling over me like a cloud? Right from the very moment Edward stepped across the threshold I knew why he had come. The atrocious weather has kept all other guests away this past week, but not Edward. I knew there was only one reason even he would have braved the weather. He was typical of his sex. With his mind made up, he could wait no longer. I was on the landing when I heard the butler greet him at the door. For some reason I was not surprised to see him. As I moved cautiously down the stairs I observed my father usher him into the house proper - no doubt straight in the direction of his study with its roaring great fire. Edward glanced up at me as he passed. With his dark hair whipped across his cheeks and eyes sparkling with the exertion of riding through the rain, I could almost see him as some other woman might - tall, handsome to a fault and powerfully built and yet it is all superficial. I know what sort of man lies beneath that flawless exterior, the sort of man that I can not spend the rest of my life with. Most women will not look farther than outward appearances and social position, but I crave companionship, mutual trust built on love and conversation of which I will never grow tired. I have found all that, and it is not with Edward. _

_Mother summoned me down half an hour later, a half hour which I had spent in front of the mirror composing my reactions to Edward's question. While a simple 'no' came all too easily in just my own company I knew that I could not afford to give such an answer to Edward. I rehearsed surprise and embarrassment but would not let tears fall because I knew they would not be in jest. I was whispering W's name as I rose from the seat at my bureau and made my way downstairs with tremulous steps._

_Edward was waiting for me in the blue sitting room, his hair tousled and partially dry. I could tell he was nervous. For all his handsome appearance he is no great conversationalist. I think what happened next unfolded according to every girl's dream. I remember a folded knee, his hands clasping my own and an awkward but no doubt sincere confession of his undying love for me just before the words slipped out of his mouth in a great hurry. 'Dearest, marry me,' - although it sounded more like one word than three. All my rehearsals before the mirror counted for naught as I reverted to my painful stutter. As I tried to formulate an answer, I was nothing like the composed and elegant young woman I imagine myself to be. I could not, would not, utter any of the simple words of agreement that would have sufficed but nor could I tell him I loved another. Imagining it was W down on one knee in front of me did not improve matters in the slightest and I almost began to weep. _

_He took my choked silence to mean that I was overcome with emotion. Displaying incisiveness that I had not previously credited him with, he apologised for expecting a swift answer from me. He then went on to say that he did not expect the fairer sex to be capable of marshalling their wits following such a proposal and promised me time enough to arrive at my decision…adding that he expected it to be 'yes.' I believe he thinks me an insipid fool, incapable of making a decision – the exact sort of wife that all men aspire to obtain. He begged his leave without stopping for tea and I was immediately accosted by my mother demanding an account of what had transpired between us. While I had thought she would be vexed at my lack of a definite answer, she acted as though I had sad yes and was quite beside herself for the rest of the day. _

_I retired early to write this diary entry and now that the words are on the page I can see clearly what sort of predicament faces me. I do not want to join the ranks of women who suffer in marriages without love, but I cannot see a way to avoid it. If only I could see W. _

* * *

With no small amount of satisfaction, Willow deposited the wretched little diary back in her office the following morning. Her encounter, or whatever it had been, the previous evening had completely ruined her quiet evening. It had left her unable to sleep soundly or do anything remotely productive. She jammed the leather book beneath several, much larger volumes and returned to her desk. With a slight exhalation of breath, she withdrew the picture she had drawn yesterday from beneath the scroll. The woman's serene face stared back at her and Willow could not help but think she was mocking her irrational infatuation. With a sigh, she tucked the picture within the pages of a first edition copy of _A Treatise on Witchcraft_ and turned to library catalogue that Faith had retrieved from Tirgsor.

She was still ensconced with the catalogue almost three hours later when Faith burst into her office, chest heaving as she struggled to draw a breath. Willow was about to make a rude remark regarding the number of times she seemed to be interrupted, when Faith reached out and dragged her to her feet by her shirt collar.

"Faith! Unhand me this instant!" Willow demanded, struggling against her friend's firm grip on her clothing.

"You're coming with me, Rosenberg," Faith replied in a determined tone. "And grab your coat. Tis cold out."

Faith offered no further explanation and Willow being forced to lunge backwards and snatch her coat from the back of her chair. She almost stumbled as Faith dragged her out of the room and down the hall in the direction of the exit. When it became obvious that she was following along, she felt Faith release her hold on her garments. Willow straightened her shirt and jacket as they walked, a slight huff escaping her lips.

"We just received reports of something nasty in a warehouse down by the river, the owner was running an inventory when he saw a shape move in the darkness," Faith's voice was as rushed as her walk, she swung open the elevator door with a loud crash and pushed Willow inside the cage.

"That's nice," Willow said sarcastically as she narrowly avoided a collision between her forehead and the cage. "It was probably a thief…since when are we responsible for cleaning up crime?"

"Thieves generally aren't blue with foot long spikes protruding from their heads," Faith gave Willow a calm glance and began checking each of the weapons she had strapped about her body.

"Well, demon or no, I still fail to see why you're dragging me along!" Willow protested as they reached the ground floor. "Would you care to explain?"

"Because I thought it would be good for you," Faith smirked at Willow's horrified expression for a moment before wiping it off to show that she was quite serious. "Willow, I have no idea what sort of demon is blue with spikes coming out of its head let alone how to kill it!"

Willow's eyes narrowed in frustration as they passed out of the Employee's entrance and straight into the waiting carriage with its stomping black steeds and drawn curtains. She waited until she was seated in the dark interior to give the woman sitting opposite her a piece of her mind.

"It's a Atramen demon you idiot, it was one of the demon's I listed in a report I filed six month's ago, you should have read it," Willow folded her arms across her chest, tapping her figures impatiently as she waited for Faith to respond.

The brunette appeared nervous, furrowing her brow as though she were trying to remember. Her concentration did not last long and she simply shrugged her shoulders much to the annoyance of her friend. Willow moved to the edge of her seat as though she were about to launch into a lecture but Faith was quick to cut her off.

"Willow, you file a report each week and I simply don't have time to read each one, especially not when I'm travelling. And I don't remember what I had for breakfast yesterday let alone something I may have read six months ago."

Willow's mouth was set into a tight line. Faith had unintentionally managed to dismiss her beloved job as unimportant and bureaucratic. It did not sit well with her at all. However she managed to keep a level head, predominantly due to the fact that she knew her job was without doubt the most important in the entire organisation. Without her carefully conducted and presented research, everything would fall apart.

"You never eat breakfast," Willow stated matter-of-factly. "And my report examined recent Atramen sightings in Tidworth, Stroud and Watford and concluded that someone or something may have several under their control - which is all relatively easy if you have mastery of the correct spells of course."

"That's a conclusive report," Faith replied with a wry twist to her mouth, eyes sparkling in the dim light of the carriage. "I'm sorry I missed it."

Although Willow couldn't help but smile in return at Faith's brazen sarcasm, she was quite serious as she continued, "Honestly Faith, reading reports could save your life. What if I wasn't around to tell you how to defeat the foes we - or rather you - come up against?"

"But you're always around," Faith noted simply. "So how do we defeat this thing?"

Willow shrugged. "If you had read the report then you would know that I have no idea."

Willow and Faith extracted themselves from the carriage ten minutes later to find themselves in front of a rather non-descript warehouse. There was not a soul to be seen, no doubt the owner had made him scarce after a fleeting encounter with the netherworld that he would be only too happy to deny ever happened.

Willow felt rather under prepared as she glanced across at Faith and saw the vast array of weapons she carried about her lithe frame. Strapped around her waist were two matching, beautifully tooled belts with silver inlays. Hanging from one, on her left hip, was a slender sword with a practical, no-nonsense hilt and leather grip. On her right was a long dagger, also meant for business rather than show. She grasped in her capable hands the self-loading crossbow which Giles had recently invented for her, fully loaded with ten silver bolts. Willow knew without looking that she also had a dagger concealed in each of the leather riding boots that reached almost to her knees. The leather pants she wore clung to her thighs almost scandalously, and the jacket and shirt she wore also left little to the imagination as they hugged her figure.

Glancing down at her own rather drab attire, one of the two three-piece suits she owned, Willow wished she could wear the same scarlet hue of which Faith's jacket was made but at the risk of looking completely silly she continued to wear dependable greys and blacks. As Faith moved towards the building, she knew she ought to start worrying about the Atramen demon and the fact that she was completely unarmed.

"Um, Faith, I don't need to come in do I?" Willow asked nervously. "I mean, what would I do if it rushed at me?"

"Absolutely nothing," Faith replied in a low voice, stealing stealthily inside the door which was slightly ajar. "You can be bait."

"Spiffing," Willow noted in a high-pitched, panicky voice.

Once they were both inside, Faith motioned for her to be quiet and lifted her crossbow to her shoulder as she went down into a stealthy crouch. Willow followed suit, but felt incredibly silly as she inched along behind Faith. As much as she tried to look the part of an intrepid demon hunter, she felt like a fool…and an unarmed fool at that.

The warehouse was eerily silent, and all too dim for Willow's likely. In the gloom of an overcast winter's day, shadows crept between the mountains of crates stacked within. Any one of those shadows could have concealed something sinister, biding its time to do them some harm. Willow imagined shapes moving everywhere.

"Faith!" Willow hissed urgently.

"Shhh!" Faith growled low in her throat.

"I'd feel better if I had a knife or something pointy!" Willow continued.

Faith glanced over her shoulder at the researcher. She was somewhat amused to see her skin had gone a nasty shade of green. "You wouldn't know what to do with it even if you did have one. Anyway, nothing's gonna happen to you with me here."

No sooner had the words left Faith's lips that an inky black shape engulfed her, knocking her straight to the ground. Her new-fangled self-loading cross bow clattered to the ground and slid several metres away. As she leapt to her feet and drew her sword, she got an eyeful of what it was they were up against. By itself, the Atramen was of similar height and build as a man, however, foot-long spikes added to its height and gave the impression that it was much taller than it actually was. True to the warehouse owner's word, it was a dark blue in colour…almost the colour of ink. Its shiny skin rippled between blue and black as it moved. Willow backed away a few steps as it turned to face her, giving her full view of its massive white eyes and lipless mouth. She almost wet herself when it bared an array of spiked teeth.

"Ahhh, Faith…" Willow whispered, continuing to back up.

With a cry to turn its attention towards her, Faith surged forward with her sword raised. The Atramen turned its attention away from Willow and towards the real threat. They began a deadly dance across the warehouse floor. Each slice Faith made with her sword was deftly sidestepped by the lightning fast demon. Her fingers curled around the hilt of her sword and she brought it to bear once more, stepping forward in a determined series of slashing attacks. The demon caught her with several solid punches to her face and she stumbled backwards.

Willow was looking on helplessly before she realised that Faith's cross bow was lying mere metres from where she stood. She scrambled to pick it up and lift it beneath her arm into what she hoped was an appropriate firing position. With very little in the way of aim, Willow jabbed her forefinger on the trigger and absolutely nothing happened. She tried several more stabs but the crossbow remained lifeless in her hands.

Oblivious to Willow's struggles with the crossbow, Faith groggily shook her head and regained her stance. Unbalanced by her quick revival, she caught the Atramen off guard and the tip of her sword sliced through its chest. A thin line of skin burst and spewed forth a thick, blue liquid. Faith was determined to press home the wounding move but as her sword sliced through the air in another stroke, the Atramen seemed to regain its strength and caught her fist in its own. Faith looked surprised for a moment before it wrapped a single hand around her neck and hurled her several metres through the air. Her body slammed into several stacked wooden crates which smashed beneath the weight and collapsed around her.

Willow waited for Faith to exact herself from the crates but seconds went by with absolutely no movement. When the Atramen spun around and hissed, she knew it was coming for her. With no weapons and no clue, Willow could see no alternative but to turn and run like the coward she was. She had barely made several metres when a dark shape passed over head. The Atramen had leapt over her and no stood directly in her path. With no further warning it sprung and slammed her back against the ground beneath its body weight. With one hand, it ensnared both her own and held them above her head even as she squirmed and writhed in disgust.

Trapped beneath the demon and staring up into its white eyes, Willow felt as though it ought to be sightless. However, judging by its reactions to both her and Faith, she knew that was not the case. It had parried Faith's every move and now Willow could not even think about trying to hit it with both arms trapped over her head and the creature's disgusting face hovering just inches above her own. It seemed to be smiling at her discomfort, at least that's what Willow thought it was baring its teeth for…it could have been about to bite her head off. A great gob of saliva dropped from its mouth into her eyes and she squeezed them shut as it burned fiercely. The Atramen hissed in short bursts, a sound which Willow quickly realised was its laughter.

She twisted and struggled as her eyes remained shut, burning fiercely. Something warm and sticky slithered up her neck, trailing a path up over her jugular and onto her chin. Willow tried to wrench her head aside, desperately trying not to imagine what part of the demon was touching her face. She let out a sudden screech that continued until she realised the weight no longer pressed down on her. The demon was gone and her hands were free. Willow urgently scrubbed at her eyes, having to practically claw the sticky substance from her face. As she writhed on the ground she could hear the sounds of a struggle in the background. Then there was the sound of a decidedly feminine grunt, Faith was back. Willow opened her eyes the merest fraction as she lay on her side. She saw a blurry figure standing in front of her but even with her impaired vision she knew it was not Faith. Her friend was wearing red. The figure standing opposite her almost melded with the shadows in black clothing. The only parts of the figure that stood out were a pale face and long, white-blonde hair. It was her.

One word entered her consciousness at that moment, _Fire._

"W-who…" Willow tried to reach out a hand towards the shape when a solid object slammed into her body.

Willow was sent flying, rolling over several times before she hit a crate and came to a halt. Someone bent over her, their hoarse breathing sounding loud in her ears.

"Sorry, Will," Faith sounded exhausted.

Willow was picked up by the scruff of her shirt and dumped on her feet. She wavered a little but managed to grab onto the crate beside her and remain standing. Her vision had cleared somewhat and she could see Faith grab and wrestle the demon by its spikes. As her senses cleared, she remembered her hazy view of the blonde-haired figure. Something already told her that she would be gone but Willow looked for her anyway. She was gone. The word 'fire' still rang inside her head, and it was only after staring at the fight taking place between Faith and the demon that she realised what it meant. She turned and staggered away from the wrestling pair, searching for something, anything which catch fire. It was a task made all the more difficult by the darkness in the warehouse but Willow spied a kerosene lantern hanging near an exit door. She snatched it down and was patting down her pockets for something to light it with when she remembered she didn't smoke. An image of Faith puffing on one of her disgusting cigars popped into her head.

"Faith!" Willow moved a little closer to the two combatants. "Do you have a matchbook?"

Faith glanced up from where she had the Atramen in a headlock. Her expression was clearly one of annoyance. "Of course I've got a bloody matchbook, now's not the time to take up smoking, Will!"

"Stop your whining and give it to me!" Willow snapped, even as the Atramen gained the upper hand and flung Faith to the floor.

As the demon pressed down on her, Faith reached into the pocket of her scarlet jacket and pulled out a small cardboard box. With some difficulty she managed to toss the little box to Willow who scrambled to retrieve it when it landed short of where she stood.

Placing the lantern on the ground, Willow struggled to light it with a match. The first two broke in her trembling hands and the third went out as she lowered it to the wick.

"Bloody heck, get a grip, Willow!" she growled at herself, even as she heard a cry of pain from her friend.

She glanced up to see Faith clutching at her shoulder, her hands bloody. Hands shaking even worse, Willow willed the next match to light. She successfully lowered it into the glass and the wick caught. As a warm glow filled the space around her, she picked up the lantern and loosened all the screws sealing the fuel holder shut. Although the Atramen had been closing on Faith, it suddenly glanced at Willow and its eyes seemed to bulge when it saw the flame. An awful screech tore from its throat and it hurled itself at Willow.

With fuel leaking from the lantern, Willow picked it up and hurled it directly at the creature bearing down on her with a war-like cry. The lantern smashed across the creature's chest and kerosene splashed over its skin. As the flames caught hold, Willow scrambled out of its path. She tripped as she tried to move but Faith was there to drag her to a safe distance. Both women watched the creature burn, its hissing anguished cries doing little to move them to sympathy. As its body burnt, it did not char, rather it melted. In less than a minute the Atramen demon was reduced to an ink-like puddle on the warehouse floor, feeding a spluttering little blaze.

With their foe no longer a threat, Willow disentangled herself from Faith's hold and moved towards the spot where she had seen someone standing moments earlier.

"Was there anyone else in here besides us?" Willow stopped short of disappearing into the shadows that filled much of the warehouse. "I mean did you see anyone else?"

"Just him," Faith pointed at the scorch mark on the floor, the fire had gone out and it was all the evidence that remained of the Atramen demon.

"No…" Willow whispered, stopping short of saying who she thought it had been, a few moments later she shook her head quickly to indicate that it didn't matter. "Don't worry, no doubt it was hallucinations brought about by terror…seriously Faith, were you hastening to my aid or taking your time?"

"Hastening of course! Do you really think I wanted him to rip your head off?"

Willow flexed her neck and realised for the first time just how painful it actually was. Then she glanced down at her front to find herself coated in sticky blue Atramen blood from her shoulders downwards, her favourite grey suit was ruined.

"Great, I have no visible battle wounds to prove just how much mortal peril I was in and a ruined suit. Heavens, I think I will have nothing to wear to work tomorrow," Willow groaned at the thought of wearing a dress.

She then glanced across at Faith to see her friend flexing her arm, wincing as the deep lacerations made their presence known.

"Oh Faith, I'm so sorry." Willow felt ridiculous for lamenting her dirty clothes and lack of wounds when her friend was clearly in pain.

Faith shook her head, "Tis nothing, I've had worse accidents getting out of the bath."

Faith then moved to retrieve both her sword and the crossbow, sliding one back into its sheath and tucking the other beneath her arm.

"That thing's bloody useless, I'm going to give Giles a piece of my mind when we get back to work," Willow muttered, eyeing the crossbow as though it were out to get her.

Faith glanced down at the weapon, she fingered a small lever on the side and then looked up at Willow with a small grin. "Safety latch is still on, Will."

"Oh," Willow flushed a burning red, making a mental note to not mention that little fact to Giles.

Faith slapped her on the back and it was forgotten. "Let's get out of here. I need to report back to Croft and get a team sent here to clean up this little mess."

Willow immediately began to berate Faith for not cleaning up her own mess as she helped her from the warehouse. The thought that there were people in the organisation who ran around secretly cleaning up mess from dead demons was a surprise to her. Faith noted that she would be sure to bring a mop along on her next mission as long as Willow brought a bucket of soapy water.

As the voices of the two women faded from the room, from the shadows emerged the woman Willow had glimpsed earlier as she struggled with the demon. Her pale face was impassive as she strode into the centre of the room and knelt elegantly, directly beside the scorch marks that were apparently all that remained of the demon. She withdrew a small stopper bottle from within her cloak and uncorked it. A smooth, barely whispered incantation flowed from her lips and moments later the scorch marks came alive. The burn seemed to lift from the floor and merge to form a tarred and blackened ball hovering at the height of the bottle. The shape seemed reluctant to move further but a curt word from the woman sent it flying into the bottle like liquid moving in the wrong direction. With the stopper replaced, it appeared to be little more than common ink.

The bottle tucked safely within her cloak, she reached out to touch the empty floorboards where just moments ago Willow had lain, fighting to get the demon off her body. The very tips of her fingers traced the bare boards as though that small touch afforded her some sort of contact with the young woman. Her facial expression slipped for just a moment to reveal an inherent sadness, the sadness of loss and absence.

"Don't tell me you're trying to kill her now?" a cold voice sliced through her thoughts.

She stood, her cloak rustling slightly as she did, and turned to face the speaker. It was a tall, broad-shouldered man with his handsome, chiselled features twisted into an approximation of amusement. His brown hair curled down around the collar of his finely tailored suit. He moved powerfully, taking just a few steps to cross the floor to her side. The woman was forced to look up at him, her white neck craning proudly as she met his gaze.

"Don't be ridiculous, Angelus. If I was seriously trying to kill her she would be dead already." Her voice was cold and without emotion of any kind. The sadness she had felt only moments before was already deeply suppressed.

Angelus let out a mocking laugh before he replied, "After witnessing that little episode, you would have fooled me. You know our Master wants her for himself. As soon as she leads him to the skull, he is going to split the redhead open and drain her dry. He'll drink his fill of her blood and his wives will bathe in the remnants." Angelus wrapped his large hand around the back of his companion's neck, stroking the soft skin there as though he were lulling her into a false sense of security just prior to snapping her neck. She tensed slightly as his fingernail pressed into her skin. "That's not going to create a problem for you is it, Tara?"

* * *

No one else would dare rest their dirty boots on Lara Croft's desk, other than Lara herself of course. However, as afternoon was about to give way to early evening, Faith sat back in Croft's chair with her riding boots sitting comfortably on the edge of the desk in front of her. She held a fat cigar between her lips and was sending rings of smoke in the direction of the ceiling. The heavy office door swung inwards and Croft entered, her expression remaining unchanged even as she laid eyes on Faith.

The Director of the British Museum was as elegant as ever, clad in an austerely elegant dress of scarlet that matched Faith's jacket. While the garment concealed almost every inch of her skin, it did nothing to hide her luxurious curves. Instead, it accentuated her swaying hips, flat stomach and ample bosom. She did not miss the barely veiled look in Faith's eyes as she limped across the floor to sit on the corner of her own desk.

"What makes you think you can get away with this sort of behaviour?" Lara reached across the desk and, with her thumb and forefinger, grasped the cigar in Faith's lips.

Faith parted her lips slowly, curving them up into a smile as Croft removed the foul smelling cigar and deposited it in a half empty tea cup sitting on her desk. She swung her booted feet down from the desk and slid the chair forward in order to prop her elbows on the desk and bring her face closer to Croft's. The two women found each others eyes and the air around them smouldered with the sensual meeting of two confident gazes. Faith retained the cocky grin and in response the barest smile grazed Croft's lips before disappearing to be replaced by a severity that was entirely false.

The palpable and almost overwhelming tension between the two women was broken when Croft slid from the desk and limped around to the window. Faith glanced down discreetly as she knew it pained the Director to appear crippled in front of anyone, especially her employees. She was now standing directly opposite Faith, with nothing between them. Faith kept one elbow on the desk and swivelled slightly so she could watch the Director as she gazed out on Great Russell Street down below.

"Look at them," Lara whispered softly, eyes on the countless people as they scurried about their business. "If only they realised the sort of danger they were in everyday."

Faith was quick to respond, "Then we wouldn't be doing our job properly."

"True," Lara nodded curtly, she turned to Faith and furrowed her brow as though she were trying to remember exactly why it was she had summoned Faith to her office.

Faith recognised the look and added helpfully. "My report?"

Lara shook her head in response. "Your report can be delivered in writing, I wanted to see you for another reason."

"Oh?" Faith inquired hopefully.

"I need you to keep a close eye on Rosenberg for me," Lara replied quietly.

"Oh," Faith repeated, although this time her voice betrayed disappointment. "Such a request hardly needs to be spoken aloud. I sometimes feel as if I live to keep an eye on Willow, platonically of course."

Faith chuckled to herself as she remembered Willow's awkward response to her declaration of love the day before.

"Is it funny, Winters?" Lara had obviously missed the joke.

"Ah no," Faith shook her head. "But I'm not quite sure I understand why you're asking me to do this specifically as Willow's my friend, watching over her comes naturally…and for you to ask me that would lead me to believe she's in some sort of danger?"

"The truthful answer to your question is I don't know, she could very well be and yet at the same time it could all be a ridiculous mistake. However, until I find out otherwise, I'm treating it very seriously."

"That task would be made easier if I had more information." Faith dropped the rather obvious hint.

"That I cannot give you," Lara turned away from Faith and resumed watching the passers by outside. "Just protect her…especially from herself."

"I will," Faith promised, gently sliding the chair back and moving to her feet, she moved to stand behind Croft and lowered her voice. "Is there anything I can help you with before I beg my leave, Lara?"

Lara turned her head slightly so Faith could make out the curve of her lips. "I can think of a number of things…but I have a lot of work to do before the end of today and I must ask that you leave me to attend to it."

"As you wish," Faith murmured, speaking close enough to Lara's neck to allow the hot air from her mouth to fall on it.

Faith slipped out of the room in time to miss the reluctant sigh that escaped Lara's lips.

* * *

Myles allowed himself to feel a little thrill at the thought of being the sole person on the basement level of the British Museum. Giles had departed minutes earlier, leaving him to finish polishing the long rack of swords laid out in front of him. There were at least twenty of varying shapes, sizes and metals. Massive double handed broadswords stood next to delicate rapiers with elaborate handles. Some had blades of the finest folded steel, while others were made entirely of silver for the sole purpose of killing vampires…and the thirty-two other types of demon who also had problems with silver. Myles ran through all thirty-two demon types in his head as he worked on Faith's second favourite blade, a rare Japanese katana given to her by a samurai warrior. Her favourite blade, of course, never left her side.

With no one else around, Myles was quite happy speaking to himself as he recited his demon list,

"Fumian, catellus, sicarius…ummm, lemures demon…" Myles screwed up his nose as he tried to remember the book on demonology he had been discreetly reading in Willow's office. "No, they can't be killed by silver – just beheading. Utionis, I think…damn, I wish Willow was still here so I could check my answers!"

Myles replaced the rapier carefully and drew out the last sword in the rack, a short steel baselard which Faith was fond of carrying concealed when she was forced to wear a dress. He whistled happily as he ran his cloth over the stubby little weapon, carefully holding it at the hilt and tilting the blade away from his body. He liked the feel of the sword, probably because it was so small, and it swung easily through the air. His eyes darted around the workshop and in the direction of the door as though to confirm he really was alone before he set aside his cloth and stood. Still holding the sword he moved to a clear space in the room.

"En guarde!" Myles stood in the manner he had seen Faith use many times in training, before lunging forward to make a stabbing motion at an imagined foe. "Ha! Don't even think about trying to get past me."

Myles swung heartily, slashing the air in front of him with what he thought were well timed strokes. His feet moved lightly across the floor as he duelled with his imaginary opponent. His stabbed his blade forward in a finishing stroke and grinned.

"You'll rue the day you met Myles Cavendish!" he announced, flourishing the sword several times.

His foe defeated, Myles reluctantly returned to his polishing. He was about to sit back down on his chair, when every single light in the workroom blinked out in an instant and he was left in pitch black. The sword trembling in his grip, Myles gingerly felt around on the desk in front of him for the object he remembered seeing there just moments earlier. He knew it was somewhere just in front of him. He had 'borrowed' it from Giles' workroom earlier in the day, just to take home for the evening and show his younger brothers. Myles breathed a sigh of relief as his fingers closed around the cylinder and moved the switch forward with his thumb. The space immediately in front of him was illuminated with a weak yellow light from Giles' new invention. Just as his breathing was calming he heard footsteps in the hall beyond, in the direction of Willow's office. A wry smile crossed his face as he suspected it to be the researcher. No doubt leaving early had not agreed with her and she had discreetly returned to work.

Using the beamlight to guide him to the door, Myles made his way through the obstacles in his path. As he approached the door he realised that he was thinking the possibility that it might not be Willow at all. The short sword was still firmly in his grasp and he pointed it out in front of him now. He reached the door and moved the light to his sword hand as he grasped the knob. He could no longer hear the footsteps, all he could hear was the rasp of his own breath. The door opened with the awful screech of un-oiled hinges. Myles winced as any hope of stealth was ruined.

He poked his head out into the dark corridor, keeping both the light and the sword out in front of him. He shone the light first right, and then left, seeing nothing but an empty corridor in both directions.

"Willow, is that you?" he kept his voice low, not daring to speak louder. "Faith?"

Myles moved out into the corridor and in the direction of Willow's office, all the while feeling as though the temperature had dropped several degrees. His hair stood up on the back of his neck. Most irritating was the fact that he could not hold the sword straight without its blade moving in his trembling hands. The flashlight also wobbled from side to side. He made it to Willow's office, the door was ajar and no one seemed to be inside. Standing in Willow's office, he glanced around but everything was such a shambles, he could not tell if something had been disturbed.

His fear gradually became embarrassment. Most likely it had been the caretaker in thinking no one was down here had turned the lights off at the main switch by the elevator. Myles made up his mind to speak to no one about his little episode in the dark. As he turned to leave the office the beam of light in front of him was swallowed by a darkness standing in the doorway. It was darkness with a pale chin protruding from the cowl of a deep hood. The sword and light slipped from his fingers at the precise moment the shape surged forward directly at him. Myles stumbled backwards and the last thing he saw before his head collided with the corner of the chair behind him was a pair of brilliant, burning blue eyes.


	5. Old Abe's Legacy

**Chapter Five  
Old Abe's Legacy**

_21__th__ December 1777_

_For these past few weeks since Edward's proposal I have thought of nought all besides W. Despite the few brief words we actually spoke at Sir John's party some months past, I clearly felt that our mutual passion was neither forgotten nor diminished. Without words between us, I have laboured and suffered hoping and praying that W had garnered that same impression. Throughout boredom fraught nights at home with my parents and attending parties on Edward's arm I have kept my suffering to myself. While I have made Edward swear to hold off announcement of any possible engagement I can hear everyone whispering about us. I can see the whole pack of them now, matrons with their chins wagging incessantly as they gossip about matters that are none of their affair! How I hate them so!_

_I cannot keep denying Edward his answer; soon even he will grow tired of my apparent indecision and go directly to my father. I shall then have no say in the matter of my own marriage and I will be forever wed to a man whom I do not love. _

_I was fearfully depressed until last night when it was made evident that I had not suffered alone throughout this time. W felt the separation and distance as keenly as I and she had been dying to see me! All this and more, much, much more I learnt last night. What a glorious night it was!_

_Edward's parents hosted a sumptuous Christmas party for the neighbouring families of note. While I was compelled to go by virtue of my relationship with their son, I attended without quarrel for I knew full well that an invitation would also have been extended to W and her brother, the dashing Captain. I know it sounds dreadful of me to say but my night only improved when Edward came down with a head cold and was compelled to remain in bed throughout the festivities. I was left unattended to enjoy the pleasures that the night had to offer. _

_I was making the rounds with my father, fending off questions and comments regarding my impending engagement when I sensed a ripple pass throughout the entire company gathered in the Walsh's Grand Hall. I looked towards the entrance and my heart soared when she walked in on her brother's arm. Every young lady (and many a matron and spinster too) swooned at the sight of the dashing Captain, while eligible bachelors held their breath when faced with the sight of his sister. Her green gown made every other woman in the room appear pale and washed out in comparison. It was perfectly tailored to show off her tiny waist and creamy shoulders, with barely a hint of her modest cleavage showing. Those gorgeous red locks that I loved so were piled in curls atop her head, with more cascading down over her neck. I instantly felt a hot surge of jealousy at the thought of so many eyes upon her but it was all too quickly dispelled when I saw her eyes roaming the crowd, passing straight over every gaze in the room that was feasting upon her...until she came to mine. _

_As a small smile curled the corner of her lips I instantly felt vulnerable, wondering if I had chosen the right gown or coiffure. I saw her turn her head slightly to whisper something in her brother's ear. The smile and knowing glance that Abraham then cast in my direction confused me slightly. It seemed as though he knew exactly what I was thinking about his sister. However, confusion was replaced by rapture a second later as I saw W leave her brother's side and begin to thread her way through the crowd. She ignored all attempts at conversation and invitations to dance as she made her way towards me, her gaze never once leaving mine. When she finally reached me her first movement was to reach out and brush her fingertips against my wrist. I almost swooned into her arms even as she spoke in a clear voice words which speak in my ear still, _

"_You are undoubtedly the most beautiful woman here. Would you take a turn about the room with me?"_

_My own voice was far from composed and my damnable stutter caused me to sound like a blundering idiot but I managed to convey my agreement. Then she linked her arm through mine and I was rendered incapable of speech for at least a minute. The feel of her smooth skin upon my own and the close proximity of her body were almost too much for me to bear. My heart was racing wildly despite the sedate pace at which we threaded our way through the crowded room. She must have noticed my discomfort as she commented on my flushed cheeks. I lifted one palm and indeed found it extremely hot to the touch. Her suggestion that we retire to a secluded corner somewhere was a fine one and as we exited the hall I felt a weight lift from my shoulders…although my heart did not cease its wild palpitations. _

_Even the small rooms adjacent to the hall were far too crowded for our liking, although only containing at the most half a dozen people. Knowing the Walsh house as well as you might expect, it was I who led W to a well-hidden place I remembered from a childhood spent in the company of Edward and his siblings. At the time I did not know why I was choosing such a secluded location for our meeting but in hindsight I now know full well that I wanted to be alone with W, away from prying eyes and gossiping tongues. _

_I felt a delicious shiver run down my spine as I led W by the hand into the space beneath the ground floor stairs, a tiny alcove really with barely enough room for two adults to stand. A smile crossed her face as soon as she realised my intent and in moments I was no longer the instigator. W pressed me into the space until my back was against the wall and we were both in complete shadow. We found ourselves alone together for the first time since that windswept day in the stable, the difference being the increased depth of our feelings for one another. _

_My legs felt as if they had no bones in them and it was only the weight of her body which kept me from falling, although she was pressed so close and so tightly against my body that falling was nigh impossible. I could only see the outline of her face and her sparkling eyes in the darkness but my senses were heightened in all other respects. I could feel her heart matching mine beat for beat, our combined breath mingling in what little air there was between us and the sweat coating our joined palms. _

_While I do not claim to remember the words W spoke with complete accuracy, I nevertheless remember her words as well as I remember everything that happened tonight…with crystal clarity. _

"_Are you feeling quite alright?" she whispered breathlessly as I felt the hand that was not enclosed in my own cup one of my burning cheeks. _

"_I-I do believe that you have rendered me incapable of both speech and movement," was my equally breathless reply as I nuzzled against the warm hand which held my cheek. _

"_Then allow me to do the moving," was W's brief reply before, a mere moment later, her lips found my own in the darkness. _

_I had dreamed of that moment ever since our first meeting and my hunger was insatiable, what began as a slow caress quickly moved to something fierce and urgent. While at the back of my mind I was aware of the cosmetics on my face and the effect of sweaty palms on ball gowns, I cared about neither as I wrapped both my arms around her waist to keep her close. She kept one hand on my face, caressing both cheek and neck while the other was pressed against my hip. _

_The kiss that day in the stable seemed passionless and chaste compared to what took place beneath the stairs. The heat rises in my cheeks even now when I think about her tongue dancing in my mouth, probing deeply and dancing with my own. I think about the way she tasted, so sweet and yet rich at the same time and I wish I were still there. It was at that time, in the muddled fog that was my mind, that I realised she yearned as much for me as I had for her. It was written clearly in the manner in which she pressed forward into my body, the delightful sounds which issued from the back of her throat and her hand at my hip, possessive and firm. Oh, I was hers without a doubt; I swore I would never belong to Edward Walsh. _

_I lost all sense of time so when our lips finally did part and we were both even more breathless, if that were possible, I had no knowledge of just how much time had passed. All I knew was that I did not want it to end. My whole body was aflame in a manner I could not explain. _

"_I need you," she hissed into my ear as she trailed delicate kisses upon my neck and jaw. "Oh, by the heavens I need you so badly!"_

_I was speechless once again but even if I could speak I did not understand what she wanted from me. She needed me but I was right in front of her, with her in every sense of the word as I understood it. As my mind reeled, she continued to trail her mouth over my skin. Her lips moved over my chin and, as I tilted my head back, down my throat. My lips parted and my eyes closed as she continued downwards over my shoulder blades and to the tops of my breasts which were laid bare by the gown I had chosen. I heard a groan escape my lips as she cupped one breast, fingers lighting brushing the nipple. Even through the fabric I felt a jolt of pleasure that I had never thought possible to experience. _

"_I wish I could taste you further," she whispered, her voice muffled for her face was pressed into my cleavage. "I cannot bear it…I need your lips upon me."_

_As I felt her hand move to tug my skirts upwards, there was a mighty thud on the stairs above our heads. We both froze instantly as heavy feet sounded on the wooden stairs scant inches from us. We heard excited male voices but I could not make any words out over the blood pounding in my ears. Whoever it was passed down the stairs and continued directly ahead, away from us. _

_Even after the interruption, I would have spent the entire evening in that tiny space beneath the stairs but W and I both knew we had appearances to maintain. I was expected to dance with Edward's father and there were no doubt scores of men clamouring to dance with W. Our parting at that moment came with great reluctance for we both knew that we would be separated and forced to mingle. It was our duty - curse that dreaded word!_

_With one last parting kiss and a desperate smoothing of our crinkled gowns, we proceeded to grace the assembled company with our presence. While I thus caught only glimpses of W or conversed with her in the company of others, she appeared radiant and confident. Never have I seen a young lady who was in more favour than my beloved W, without a doubt she was the belle of the party. Only at the end of the night, when the Captain moved to escort her back to their carriage did she squeeze my fingers once. There were unshed tears in her eyes. I knew exactly why she was crying, I felt the same immense pang of loss at parting that she did. _

_It is near midnight as I write these words and still I can remember the silky sweetness of her lips on mine. As I hear her pleading in my ear still, I feel a fierce heat burn between my thighs and I realise exactly where it was that she needed my lips._

* * *

Willow knew that something was not right as soon as she wandered into work that morning at her usual time of eight am. For one thing, Faith was already at work, which was a rare occurrence indeed, and there was a small crowd gathered around the entrance to her office. Willow found herself breaking into a run for the last stretch; the thought of people searching through her work was terrifying to say the least. Not to mention the little matter of the portrait tucked inside _A Treatise on Witchcraft_ that could raise any number of awkward questions.

However, Willow's concerns for her own affairs were forgotten when she reached the door and peered in. She found Myles seated on her chair, next to a physician who had just finished binding a bulky bandage around his head. Both Croft and Faith were also nearby, Croft appearing uncomfortable as though she had been standing for some time on her bad leg and Faith leaning against her Greek History books with her elbow leaning heavily on a hundred year old copy of Plutarch's _Parallel Lives_. She saw Willow glare and quickly straightened, removing the offending elbow from the bookshelf.

"Myles, are you okay?" Willow moved to stand next to Giles who was just inside the doorway.

Myles's face was almost as white as the bandage that covered his hair but he nodded. "Just a wee knock tis all."

"I recommend retiring to bed as soon as possible," the physician commented before excusing himself to leave the department staff to get the night's happenings out of Myles.

"Someone broke into the department yesterday evening," Faith commented coldly. "Myles disturbed the bastard and the poor fellow was hit over the head for his troubles."

"Well…" Myles began awkwardly. "I don't think I was hit as such…it was more like the chair hitting the back of my head."

"See, the brave young man has a concussion," Faith crossed the floor to deposit a gentle kiss on Myles' cheek. "It looked as though he'd tried to fight off the intruder. We found one of my swords lying next to him."

In seconds, Myles' pallor had been overcome by the spread of scarlet rising up over his cheeks. He ducked his head and fidgeted with the cuff of his jacket as he felt all eyes in the room on him.

"Giles said it was alright to stay behind, I was just finishing up with the swords when all the lights went out, I thought it was the caretaker but-" Myles began.

"I interviewed him this morning," Lara interrupted. "He'd already finished for the night."

Myles nodded, his pallor returned. "I had the beamlight with me."

Giles let out a discreet cough at the mention of the 'borrowed' light before Myles continued.

Myles allowed himself an awkward guilty smile. "So I decided to take a look. There's not much to say really, I heard a noise outside the workroom and thought it came from in here. When I came to investigate, there was no one here. Then I turned around and then she rushed at me…her face, that's the last thing I remember."

"She?" Faith asked with surprise clearly registering in her voice. "Myles, this is the first time you've suggested it was a woman. Are you quite sure?"

Myles nodded enthusiastically. "It was definitely a woman - pale skin, long blonde hair around her face and the most brilliant blue eyes I've ever seen…very pretty, in a scary way."

As Myles spoke, the blood had drained from Willow's own face. He couldn't be talking about the same woman. She crossed the floor and hunkered down by her desk, feeling the eyes of everyone in the room on her as she drew a small object out of her bottom drawer.

"Will, are you alright?" Faith asked quietly, before her voice became distinctly suspicious. "Do you have something to add?"

"Ignore me, I just need to develop this film, I had a thought-" Willow began, but under the combined weight of all the stares in the room she quickly fled, clutching her camera to her chest.

Once safely shut into the department's darkroom, Willow allowed herself a moment to run all that Myles had said through her head. The fact that his brief description had fitted the woman she had seen in the park, and again in the warehouse could not be just a coincidence. Although there were undoubtedly many women with blue eyes and pale hair, Willow knew there was just one in particular who seemed to have a habit of appearing at odd moments. As she moved to develop the film in the camera, she could not help but mull over everything in her head. She knew there were connections to be made between the strange goings on and the woman, but the fact that she did not have the information to do so was eating away at her. The solution would be to go straight to the source, but she knew nothing about the woman, who she was, where she lived…only that she desperately wanted to talk to her.

Almost half an hour later, a little queasy from the chemicals she had inhaled, Willow drew the photograph out of the solution in the tray in front of her. Even as it had developed, she had noticed something odd at the centre of the photo. Carefully pegging it on the line above her, she studied it closely. In the centre where the blonde woman should have been standing, where she was standing on the day Willow had taken the photograph - there was nothing. Nothing was not exactly the right word, there were trees, grass, the stream bank and several blurry people in the background but none of that really mattered. There was no blonde woman.

Willow continued to stare at the photograph of the park until she realised that no amount of staring was going to insert her in there. While it may very well have been possible for her to move the camera and miss the woman altogether in the awkward manner in which she had shot the photo, Willow knew that wasn't the case. She remembered exactly where the woman had been standing, and that very spot was at the centre of the photo.

As she stumbled out of the darkroom, Willow tried to force down the inevitable conclusion. She was a demon researcher, one of the foremost demon authorities in the entire word to be precise and she knew exactly which kind of demon was not at all photogenic. Then there was the paleness of course - everything seemed to add up except for the fact that both times she had seen her had been the middle of the day. Willow didn't know whether to be excited at the thought of being able to write a groundbreaking paper discussing vampires who could walk during the day, or to be absolutely horrified that she had fallen in love with one.

When Faith caught up with her in the corridor a moment later, she was fighting to restore some sense of order to her thoughts.

"Who did you think would be in the picture, Will?"

"Ah, no one…it was just a thought," Willow mumbled, _I'm in love with a bloody vampire! What if Faith found out? Oh god, don't let Faith find out…don't let Faith find out!_ "Um, Faith, I'm going to do an inventory of my office, do tell me if you find any further information won't you?"

"Certainly, but…" Faith clearly wanted to discuss further but Willow was already making her way back down the hall at a cracking pace.

* * *

Willow saw Faith again that afternoon, after spending a few tortured hours trying to work out if anything were missing from her office and desperately trying to forget about the awful state of affairs she found herself in. Given the state of disorganisation that was her filing system, it had not been a pleasurable experience and she was hot and flustered…and most unsuccessful in her strive to forget.

"Did you find anything missing?" was Faith's immediate question as she walked into Willow's office and found her seated on the floor with her shirtsleeves rolled past her elbows.

"Do you think I know exactly what I had to start with?" Willow threw up her hands in exasperation. "The only thing that I can even think might be missing is that diary you brought back from Eastern Europe…but then again, Myles could've taken it. He did have his beady eyes on it yesterday, and I can't ask because Lara sent him home."

"Mmhmm," Faith nodded thoughtfully. "And it did have naughty bits in it after all."

Willow glanced up at Faith. "I thought you told Myles yesterday that it didn't."

"I lied to reduce the likelihood of him 'borrowing' it," Faith shrugged, "Although in hindsight it might not have been the best course of action, I probably increased his curiosity."

"So I can stop worrying about the diary, Myles has it?" Willow asked, holding out her hand so Faith could help her to her feet. "Because I did consider the possibility it may have been taken, I remember reading an entry in the catalogue yesterday that caught my eye and it could possibly be referring to the diary."

Once pulled to her feet, Willow moved to her desk and opened the library catalogue from Tirgsor, she flicked through the pages until she reached the very last entry.

"Don't tell me someone wrote 'naughty lesbian diary' in there…wait, was the word 'lesbian' even used in the eighteenth century?" Faith tried to peer over Willow's shoulder.

"No," Willow replied in a curt voice as she ran her finger down the page. "I've read accounts where it has been referred to as Sapphic perversion…and other similar phrases along those lines."

Willow paused as though Faith's question finally registered in her brain, she glanced up at her friend with a surprised expression on her face. "Are you saying the woman who wrote that diary was a…that she loved women?"

Faith barely nodded as though it were of little importance. "Perhaps, though I think it was just one woman. She does go on to describe their love-making in particularly lovely prose, a little too chaste for my liking but it was interesting."

"Wonderful, you tell me this now it's missing," Willow tried to conceal the disappointment in her voice just before her eyes widened in horror. "Heavens, Myles can't read that!"

"Why not?" Faith allowed a small grin to creep across her face. "Are you worried that he'll know more about Sapphic lovemaking than you do when he has finished?"

"No…of course not…and I know…things…but that is not the point, this is a waste of time," Willow drew their combined attention away from Faith's rather accurate comment and back to the matter at hand, she traced her finger across the page as she read. "Miscellaneous, deposited by W. Van Helsing in 1785."

Faith shrugged, unimpressed. "That could be anything…why would it be the diary?"

"Firstly, there is almost one hundred years between this particular entry and the previous one and it roughly corresponds to the dates in the diary itself which began in 1777 I believe…and secondly, doesn't the name Van Helsing ring a bell?"

"Are you thinking of old Abe?" Faith asked dubiously. "It could have been a common name at the time."

"Van Helsing…common?" Willow clearly did not think so from the tone of her voice. "I'm going to do some research and find out if he had family, siblings, children perhaps. I think there's a commonality here. It may have absolutely nothing to do with the intruder, but my curiosity has been piqued."

"Heaven help us all! I don't know what on earth is going on here," Faith looked directly at Willow. "But my instincts tell me that we're on the cusp of something big…and I don't like it one little bit."

Willow raised her eyebrows, "Since when were you the prophecy girl?"

"Since everyone in this damn department started acting decidedly strange. First of all you've fallen in love, and it's with a woman who is quite possibly responsible for breaking in and hitting Myles over the head. Not to mention that you saved my life which is strange enough in itself and Lara is acting like she's your bloody mother."

"Why is Croft acting like she's my mother?" Willow asked with a frown even as she kept thinking over and over, _I'm in love with a vampire!_

Faith bit her lip as though she had been caught out. "Ah, no reason, ignore my ranting-"

"And more to the point…why are you calling her Lara?"

This time it was Faith who had been caught out. Following some mumbled words that Willow could not quite make out but sounded distinctly like 'you ask too many questions,' she exited her office. As Faith left, Willow thought she saw one very red cheek.

* * *

Willow was talking to herself as she paced the footpath towards her flat. She'd worked late and the sun had just disappeared over the horizon. The shadows of dusk were gradually giving way to night. Gas streetlamps flicked on just as Willow reached her front door and she fumbled in her satchel for something. Almost a minute passed as she sifted through the stacks of paper jammed into the little bag and searched through various pockets. Various words of sounds and frustration escaped her lips before she suddenly sighed in sheer relief and reached inside her jacket. Triumphantly she withdrew a key and plugged it into the lock. As Willow slipped inside she never saw the shape lurking in the shadows just across the road, watching her.

Moments later the figure, shrouded in a dark cape, moved out into the streetlight. Light fell across striking planes of a woman's face making her pale skin seem to glow. She paused for a moment to stare at the spot where Willow had stood before pulling the cowl of her cape up over her pale hair. Her features fell into shadow and she moved off, footfalls almost silent on the street cobbles. Just as Willow had not seen her, she did not appear to notice her own stalkers. A tall, broad-shouldered man wearing a knee length leather coat fell into step beside her and she did not immediately react to his presence despite the fact that he was of an ill-favoured ilk. He strode with a definite swagger, his lips curled up into a curl approximation of a smile. His face was long, almost gaunt and ended in a square chin. His white hair stood in jagged spikes atop his head.

"I can never understand why you insist on watching her at night as well," he said, cocking his head to one side. "Any one of us would be more than capable of following her movements."

"Because, William, our master cannot trust you to keep your hands to yourself-" she began to reply coldly.

"And you can?" William interrupted with a smirk.

She ignored him as she continued, "Imagine how displeased he would be if he found out the girl was lying face down in a gutter after you'd had your way with her?"

"Can't blame a poor bugger for wanting some of that." He seemed a little chastened, tucking his chin down into his coat.

"That to which you so charmingly refer, is not yours," she cast a sidelong glance at the man walking next to her and her brow furrowed in disgust.

"Well now I suppose you think she's yours then, Tara?"

Tara ignored him, instead casting her gaze ahead to the two darkened figures blocking their path. Neither she nor William slowed their pace as they continued walking. She hastened slightly to move ahead of William, she could not abide the company of the man…or rather demon, beside her.

_None of us are human any longer, and yet I cannot help but refer to us as men or women as though we were still alive. I know I should not wish it…but I do._

Tara and William stopped short of the pair in front of them, now revealed to be Angelus, his tall frame wrapped possessively around a much smaller woman. Her body and features were petite even though she was swathed in a large fur coat, blonde hair barely peeping out from beneath a Cossack style hat.

"Angelus, Elizabeth," Tara murmured in a bare greeting.

"I tire of this nothingness!" the small woman named Elizabeth announced in a high-pitched voice as she ignored Tara altogether. "I'm hungry and I want to hunt!"

"And we shall my sweet," Angelus replied in a soothing voice, raising her hand to his lips and depositing a small kiss thereon, before his tone became mocking. "Tara appears as though she has little to report other than another day spent gazing forlornly at her long-lost love."

Tara allowed herself an exasperated sigh. "That woman is not who you think she is."

"I'm just concerned she will take up her old habits," William muttered

"And I think we should string her up and commence carving chunks out of her until she tells us where that damnable skull is," Angelus tightened his grip around the woman in his arms.

"Still hungry!" Elizabeth snapped angrily.

"This mortal is not our old enemy. She does not know where the skull is. I am still of the belief that the old bastard was responsible for its disappearance. Van Helsing hid it somewhere, and torturing that mortal is not going to get us any closer to finding it."

"Then why are we keeping her alive?" William growled, annoyed at Tara's tone.

"And why didn't you tell me yesterday that you believe she does not know where the skull is!" Angelus roared. "We are wasting our time."

"We are not," Tara fought to keep her composure. "Wilhelmina Rosenberg will locate the skull for us…but she must be given the time and information to do so."

"What information?" Angelus probed, his eyebrows raised in surprise.

"I have it all in hand," Tara replied firmly.

"Fine," Angelus did not sound or appear to be convinced. "We will give her the time and space you say she needs…but if results are not forthcoming then I will do it my way…and I do not think there will be much blood left for our master to drink."

"You torture me with talk of food!" Elizabeth growled petulantly, baring her fangs.

"My sweet, we will head down to the river immediately and find someone who will not be missed-" Angelus began.

"Dirty blood! I want someone clean and sweet!" Elizabeth stomped her foot yet again.

"Then that is what you shall have. Tara, will you join us?" Angelus inquired as he began to steer Elizabeth in the opposite direction.

"Thank you," Tara replied quietly. "But I am not hungry."

William eyeballed Tara as he turned to follow in the couple's footsteps. "No doubt your girl's clean and sweet. I'm going to taste her before long, you know that don't you."

William let out a short laugh and left Tara alone to watch the backs of her three departing companions. As they disappeared in the distance she turned and walked back to the flat where Wilhelmina Rosenberg was no doubt getting ready for bed. She then folded herself into shadows directly across the street and watched for an hour until the lights behind the window went out. Tara then continued to watch throughout the night, until the sun rose in the morning.

* * *

Willow felt her feet dragging as she stumbled into the flat. It had been a long and tiring day trying to work out what had happened the previous evening when poor Myles had ended up with his head swathed in bandages. Despite the fact that the young man had protested he was fine, Willow suspected his bravado was a result of the kiss on the cheek from Faith and she could not shake the image of his white face as he described what he had seen that night. She was disturbed by the fact that he had described her mystery woman, and even more disturbed by the fact that there was nothing at the centre of the developed photograph.

Her eyelids were heavy as she carelessly tossed her satchel down on the kitchen table. She didn't even bother with something to eat, instead moving straight through to her bedroom where she methodically began stripping her clothes off. Her suit was a crumpled pile on the floor before she remembered that it was her only one after ruining her grey suit the day before. With a sigh she gathered the garments up and hung them in her closet, momentarily becoming thoroughly depressed by the thought of shopping for another. Willow then fished under her pillow for her stripy pyjamas but soon stopped as she noticed the foreign object lying atop her pillow.

It was the diary, sitting neat as you please as though she had left it there when she went to work that morning. Willow's first thought was to panic; she checked the latches on the one window in her flat and then the door but found all to be sound. She also distinctly remembered unlocking the door to get in.

"What do you want from me?" Willow demanded of the book as she re-entered her bedroom. "Stupid…it's a diary, a damned possessed diary!"

Willow kept a close eye on the little book as she pulled her pyjamas on, expecting it to do something odd at any moment. It did nothing of the sort. It remained on her pillow, even when she flicked the lights off and turned on just the lamp by her bed. Willow hesitantly reached out and plucked the diary off, she couldn't very well sleep with it there. She kept the diary in her hand as she folded herself beneath the sheets. Although her eyes were heavy with sleep and she really did not want to have anything more to do with the strange thing, she opened it to the first page opposite the inscription and started reading.

_It would seem that I can scarce hear myself think over the beating of my heart…_


	6. Lara Croft Unravelled

**Chapter Six**  
**Lara Croft Unravelled **

_15__th__ January 1778_

_I have so much to say my pen shakes as I write. It is difficult to compose myself as the events of the past two days linger in my mind and on my skin as though I am still experiencing them. _

_Several days ago, a letter arrived for me in a clear, crisp script I did not recognise. I could barely contain my utter delight when the sender turned out to be none other than my own, dear W asking if I might possibly make it to London. I would be a guest at their townhouse with both herself and her brother in residence. I shamefully admit that I used the pretence of Edward being in London for the season to cover my true excitement in going. I knew full well that he was in the North with his regiment. Words could not describe my joy when mother granted me leave to stay (she actually approves of W and her brother…but I wonder how her feelings would change if she knew the truth!) _

_I could scarce imagine the difficulty of arranging a liaison if W had indeed been a man (which is a ridiculous hypothetical as I would not want a man-W to stay over at all!) Oh you cannot begin to comprehend how terrified I was. I was more than able to see the irony of it, I had longed to be alone with my W for so long but once I had achieved my goal I was frozen in stark terror. Dear W knew exactly how I felt and preceded with all the tenderness I knew she possessed. I am scared to commit the events of last night to paper for fear of discovery and yet I want more than just the memory of them to remain. _

_I am having great difficulty collecting my thoughts so I shall start from a beginning of sorts. When I arrived in London, W and I were compelled to spend an evening in the company of several of the Captain's friends. Fine fellows all, but I wished they would beg their leave as I desperately wanted to be alone with W…and I knew she felt the same way. All throughout the evening she cast discreet glances in my direction that set my cheeks aflame. Her intent was written so clearly in her gaze - she was undressing me with her eyes. Prior to my meeting W, I scarce even thought about what it would be like to stand bare before another person. I had overheard older, married women speak in hushed tones of an act so private that it could never be discussed, even between friends. From what I understood, it was a hurried act performed solely beneath the sheets - nothing more than a duty to be performed. From what I now understand, it is none of those things…although I suppose there was some part of it that did take place beneath the sheets! _

_I am losing my way again. __When the Captain's companions did finally depart and he himself made to beg his leave to retire for the evening, I felt a sudden rush of panic to my gut. I was left alone with W, and we were not in a stable or with the spiders in a cramped space beneath the stairs. I was suddenly aware of just how unseemly our being alone truly was. We were two young, unmarried lovers…alone together. _

_I was able to study W's face without being concerned of the notice my rapt attention might draw from gossiping matrons. Her whole visage was lit with some sort of inner glow and, although I did not think it possible, she appeared even more beautiful than ever before. She was saying something to me, her rosy lips moving as though she spoke but I could hear nothing. _

"_Are you quite alright," her voice finally broke through my rapture._

_I felt my cheeks burn when I realised how foolish I must have seemed to her eyes. "You seem to have a habit of rendering me speechless._

_She laughed and tossed her flaming hair with overstated abandon. "Unintentional on my part of course…although I am exceptionally handsome."_

_I joined in that laugh. "And modest too."_

_We faced each other from a distance of a few paces for just a moment longer before she surged forward and took up both my hands in her own. I again felt a surge of power as our skin touched and her fingers entwined with my own. She lifted each hand in turn up to her lips and deposited a kiss on the back of my hand. So chaste a touch, and yet I felt my loins quivering with the same need I had felt last time her lips touched me. When her bowed head rose again to meet my gaze I saw her eyes shining bright with passion…and unshed tears._

"_I must admit that my intentions towards you tonight are not entirely honourable. In fact, they are not honourable at all," I heard W whisper, her voice choked with emotion. "I know what I want…yet I do not know what you want, whether you desire conversation or a bed. It has been a long evening entertaining and I fear that you may be exhausted and in need of sleep…alone."_

_I was immensely pleased to hear that the last word was added on somewhat regretfully, as though the thought of me going to sleep alone was the worst manner in which to end the evening. I must admit that I was momentarily speechless once again. As I cursed my thick tongue, I was amazed that this young woman, possessing all the confidence and wit that she did, should be seeking direction from me! I knew exactly what I wanted. Even if I did not possess the words to fully make it known, I knew I could show her. _

_With brazenness I did not know I possessed, I drew her hands around my waist and moved into her body. I then claimed her lips with my own in a display of pure passion, full of heated breath and urgency._

_I showed W exactly how I felt with the intense, almost bruising pressure of my lips on her own. My own hands snaked around her waist and roamed over her clothed body. As I felt nothing but maddening silk beneath my fingers, I felt a rising anger flow through my body. How desperately I wanted my fingers to roam over her naked flesh! Mere seconds later I felt her knees buckle and we both tumbled into the cushions that lay behind us. I found myself on top of her body, my weight pressing her back into the cushions. Our faces were still just as close as they had been when we were kissing. Her eyes were glazed over with what I realised was desire and I knew she needed me right where my thigh was now pressed between her legs. I thrust forward experimentally, pressing my weight directly at the apex of her thighs beneath all that fabric. I heard a sharp intake of breath and saw her eyes close as her head tilted back. A small smile crossed my face at the thought of the power I possessed over her; just a slight shifting of my weight was enough to draw low moans from the back of her throat. I then buried my face in her neck as I continued to move against her body, sucking gently on the sweet skin I found there. Keeping my body moving, I moved my lips over her jaw line and found the creamy skin covering her shoulder blades. The fabric of her evening gown then barred further descent but, after a pause to collect my wits, I tugged it down over her shoulders with both hands, feeling a delicious shiver of wanton desire course through my body as my eyes feasted on her breasts for the first time. I hesitantly reached out to touch them with just the mere tips of my fingers. As soon as my skin came into contact with her breasts we both gasped at precisely the same moment. While I cannot say why the sound emerged from W's throat, I gasped because I had never imagined touching skin so smooth. As I ran my fingertips over her small but perfectly formed breasts, I thought that perhaps I was touching silk rather than flesh. I had been avoiding touching the darkened area of skin at the centre where her tiny nipples nestled. While I do not want to describe my exploration of her breasts as an experiment, I nevertheless felt as though that was exactly what I was doing. Everything was a new experience, from her nipples hardening beneath my ministrations to the way she tasted when I took her flesh into my mouth. As my tongue rolled over her nipple, I heard her gasp my name. Emboldened, I increased the pace of my attentions until I was tasting as much of her as I could. My hands left her shoulders as I felt her quiver beneath my touch. I knew I wanted to give her more. _

_I proceeded purely by instinct. Of course I had no experience of touching a woman's body other than my own and even then it was only in the most perfunctory manner, with none of the lingering caresses I now laid on W's flesh. My hands moved downwards, seeking the heat between her legs. With a rush of feverish excitement, I cupped the small mound I found there. _

"_Please!" she breathed through her teeth. _

_I could barely hear her whisper but it did not matter. I knew instinctively what she sought. Trembling, I grasped a handful of silken gown and drew it upwards to expose the pale legs beneath. I ran my hands over her calves and knees, private places that no unmarried women of good breeding would allow another to touch. I continued to move her gown up her body until it lay bunched around her hips. Feeling like a simpleton, I fumbled at the tie on her drawers and it seemed to take forever to loosen. I was not surprised when W's hands moved with mine to help remove her cumbersome undergarments. In moments, after the offending garment was tossed aside, I was left frozen with fear as she lay bare before me. Nestled between her pale, white thighs I was presented with a view of her sex, as mysterious as it was. I suppose it appeared to be much the same as my own, if I ever could look at it from such an angle, except that it was covered in a fine layer of red hair as opposed to honey brown._

_Given my close proximity to her, I could smell an inviting scent that was rich and warm. As I came to the realisation that it was hers and hers alone, I was struck by the sudden desire to drink it in, to taste it as though it were some nectar that I had to imbibe to survive. I shifted my weight on the couch, moving down so I could lie between her legs and, as an opening move, press my nose against her downy hair._

_I inhaled deeply for the first time and felt a rush to my head that had little to do with breathing and everything to do with the intoxicating aroma of her. _

_Tentatively I nuzzled my nose against her mound and I heard her gasp above me just as I felt her thrust her hips upwards. With her movement I suddenly found my nose buried within her folds and I was forced to inhale even more deeply of her. I heard the breathing issue forth hoarse and fast from her throat almost as though she were running. _

"_Taste me…please," she whimpered desperately as I felt her run a trembling hand through my hair. _

_My tongue flicked out, again tentatively until I tasted of her fully and realised just how sweet she was. Any hesitation on my part disappeared and I eagerly explored the slick folds that lay beneath her red hair, no longer hidden to me. As my tongue passed over her most sensitive nub, I heard a groan tear itself from her throat. I explored that tiny mound of flesh and was rewarded with the sound of further groaning. I sinfully decided that I enjoyed such sounds immensely and made it my silent promise to elicit as many as I could. It must have been agreeable to W also as she grasped my head with both hands, keeping my attention fixed in place. As I rolled the flesh about with my tongue, alternating it with firm strokes, her hips began to buck upwards, pushing her sex against my face with each stroke. In order to avoid being thrown off by her wild movements, I locked my arms around her thighs in a firm grip. Sounds continued to come from her throat, some sounding as though they came from her very gut, while others were almost silent, just slight whimpers that barely exited her throat. Sometimes her lips formed actual words, mostly my name spoken in a variety of tones…sometimes words of encouragement. In more urgent tones she spoke of needing release, although at that point I did not realise what she needed. _

_When my chin was coated in a layer of her warm juice and nothing but insistent, incoherent sounds came from her mouth, I realised that she was close to something momentous. Her hips thrust upwards against my face one last time, her bottom remaining off the couch as she froze in that position while what she called her 'release' came. I did not stop the movement of my tongue. Although I had begun to feel a decided ache in my jaw, I kept up a steady pace, barely breathing through my nose. Her sex trembled beneath my lips and a hot flood from within her body coursed over my lips. As I was drinking greedily she begged me to stop. I glanced up to find her pressed back against the armrest of the couch, her eyes closed and naked chest heaving. There was a red flush spreading across her cheeks and I thought perhaps I had harmed her in some way. In a fearful voice I inquired after her health and was relieved to hear her manage a weak laugh. _

"_Dearest," she whispered. "Come here."_

_She motioned me forward and I laid the length of her body. She did not seem to mind my weight pressing down on her. Then she claimed my lips once again, no doubt tasting deeply the taste of her own juices that covered them. We broke off the kiss, both quite breathless and I settled for propping myself up on an elbow so that I might study her beautiful face, flushed as it was. _

"_It seems as if I have corrupted you," she murmured through what seemed like a haze of pleasure. Her eyes were half-lidded and her voice was slightly breathless. _

"_Nothing of the sort," I replied, my own voice weary after what had been rather frenetic and extremely satisfying exertion. "I could have managed a polite exit as soon as you announced your less than honourable intentions."_

"_Ah," W sighed with a saucy wink. "But then I would have contrived to keep you here by some virtue of my wit or beauty, perhaps even sinking so low as to force a kiss upon you and bewitch you with my lips."_

_I could not help but smile, the thought that this elegant creature draped over the couch beneath me might do everything in her power to keep me close served to keep my heart beating as strongly as it had a few moments earlier. I deposited another kiss on her already swollen lips to prove that she did not have to force anything on me. _

"_I think that this couch is doing something dreadful to my back," W moistened her lips with her tongue as I moved away. "We should perhaps retire upstairs to my rooms?"_

_Other than the gleam in her eye that led me to believe she had things on her mind other than sleep, I needed no persuading to follow her. What an outrageous sight we would have made, two ladies with their gowns in disarray making very awkward progress up the stairs. We paused at every opportunity to force each other back against the wall and engage in yet another bout of furious kissing. _

_I could write much more about the remainder of the evening but with my love lying scant inches from me right this moment, I can stand it no longer. I must have her hands on my body now …and we have such little time available to us before I must return home and face my life and all that it entails._

_I think that perhaps by committing this evidence of our love to paper, I am coming as close as I dare to admitting it to the world. Although I think I would die if anyone were to read these words, perhaps another part of me would feel a delicious thrill at having our love known._

* * *

Willow slapped the diary shut in a rather determined act of finality and practically shoved it beneath her pillow. She backed away from her bed as though it could watch her back until her back hit her dresser. When she turned she found a red-checked face staring back at her. She poured cold water from the pitcher into the bowl and splashed liberal amounts on her face, at a complete loss to explain the flushed sensations coursing throughout her body after reading that particular passage in the diary.

_It's just letters on a page for heaven's sake, letters that make up words, words that carry important information, scholarly learning imparted for the benefit of future generations…like Plato or Herodotus. Although they did write in Greek and the diary is in English…bad, bad, naughty English!_

Willow scrubbed the skin on her face until it was tingling all over, even redder with the combination of scrubbing and the icy water. She felt a wave of indignation wash over her that the same letters that Shakespeare used were also used in such a crude and frustrating manner. Her clothes were pulled on in much the same frame of mind, each item was tugged on mercilessly and without a care that her shirt had not been ironed for the past week.

She continued to seethe throughout her journey to work, her thoughts only broken when she berated herself for forgetting to put on her coat. It was therefore a rather blue-lipped Willow who arrived at the British Museum sometime later. Even as she moved through the familiar and usually comforting halls she could not clear her mind. The words from the diary were stamped into her eyeballs and kept reciting themselves over and over in her mind as though they were a memory, and not just something she had read.

_This is ridiculous_, Willow thought in exasperation. _I_ _remember making love to a beautiful woman like it was yesterday but I did no such thing, nor am I likely to do such a thing in the near future - if ever…and here comes Faith, capital…just capital. Okay, try and look as normal as possible._ Her best friend had paused in the corridor up ahead, lying in wait as Willow approached.

Knowing Willow as well as she did, Faith immediately noticed that something was not quite right. The redheaded young woman appeared decidedly anxious and her cheeks were stained with a hot rush flush despite the cool air outside. Faith narrowed her eyes and moved quickly to cut Willow off even as she attempted to move past her with just a curt nod. Her flustered actions only served to add fuel to Faith's curiosity.

"Morning, Will," Faith started off simply. "How's business?"

"Fine," Willow muttered, ducking her head. "I'm on my way to the library to do some research on Van Helsing…so if you don't mind…"

When Willow managed to brush past her, Faith whirled and caught her by the strap of her satchel and yanked her backwards. A rather grumpy-looking Willow allowed herself to be halted, but kept her gaze downwards.

"What manner of game are you playing?" Faith demanded. "I've known you to become a little weird and obsessive while carrying out research…but never before has it driven you to the point of rudeness. Are you too busy to stop and have a morning chat with me? Okay, granted I'm usually not the best conversationalist in the morning but I'm still me and unless something has changed overnight, I'm still your dearest friend."

Willow looked up suddenly with an expression approaching mortification. "I wasn't being rude. I get distracted a lot and ignore people and I will admit that I'm absent-minded sometimes, but never rude. It's just that-"

Willow stopped. Even though Faith was her best friend and more like family that her own parents, she could not bring herself to explain the way the passage in the diary had made her feel. The passage itself had been so private and personal that she felt ashamed for reading it, not to mention the strange manner in which it had instilled itself in her own consciousness. To share such matters with Faith would be entering into a territory she was not prepared to go and it was embarrassing beyond words.

"It's just that I'm not feeling…quite myself," Willow managed to explain herself without telling an outright lie. "I just need to read something and clear my head."

Faith chuckled. "Most people would not class reading something as the best cure for clearing heads…but coming from you, I think can understand it. You are alright aren't you?"

Willow managed a tight-lipped smile of her own and a quick nod. "Yes, perfectly fine, I promise."

Faith cocked her head slightly to one side as though she were studying Willow closely, "You would tell me if something was wrong, wouldn't you?"

Willow nodded again, a little too quickly this time. "Of course…and I'll let you know if I find out more about Van Helsing."

As Faith watched Willow walk down the corridor in the direction of the Museum's library, she had to suppress the urge to follow her. Lara's concerns regarding the young woman had now become her own. Whatever Willow had just said, Faith felt that something serious was going on in Willow's life - or at least was about to and she needed to be there to protect her in the face of whatever it was.

* * *

With a wall of books piled around her as if to resemble a sturdy rampart, Willow felt somewhat safer. She managed to fill her head with biographical details of the life of Abraham Van Helsing. For the most part, it made for exceptionally dull reading. The man seemed to have spent at least fifty years of his life stuck behind a desk writing articles on the best way to run a museum and personally overseeing every square inch of the massive organisation. There was very little information on his personal life, although from what Willow could read between the lines, he appeared not to have had any living family.

Even for one who enjoyed research as much as Willow, the task was turning out to be extremely unfruitful. She was about to call quits on her search when she suddenly jumped at the feel of a hand on her shoulder. As her heart rate calmed, she glanced over her shoulder to see Giles standing over her.

"Giles, why are you venturing out of your workshop?" Willow inquired, relieved to be distracted.

"Well I am known to do that from time to time, Willow," he responded warmly, glancing down at the heavy tome she was reading. "Van Helsing? Any particular reason for looking up the old coot?"

"I am beginning to think not," Willow closed the book, sneezing in the resulting clouds of dust that were thrown up. "I found a reference to a 'W. Van Helsing' in the library catalogue that Faith found at Tirgsor and was hoping to find out who that might be. The date of deposit suggests that it whoever it was would have been a contemporary of Abraham's…but not family I think. I can't see that he had any."

"Interesting," Giles replied a little vaguely.

"And there's barely anything at all on his early life, he makes a few references to having had a military career in later writings, and I believe at one stage he may have been posted to India. It is honestly quite maddening."

"Well, that would be Abe for you."

Willow glanced back up at Giles following his rather odd comment. "Giles…you speak as if you knew him? I know you're old…but I also know you're not that old."

"Ah, well now of course not…." Giles was so flustered that he did not even pick up on Willow's good-natured ribbing, he recovered quickly however. "But I have done a bit of research myself, he did have some interesting ideas."

Willow snorted and pushed back her chair. "I wouldn't choose that word exactly."

"What word?" Giles asked with a slight frown.

"Interesting," Willow replied promptly. "He's nothing of the sort."

"I think you may be surprised if you do a little digging," Giles suggested.

Willow rose to her feet and stretched with a wide yawn. "I honestly don't think there's any point…it's a dead end to a side topic that I should waste no more time on, especially not while I have real work to do."

"Willow Rosenberg!" Giles suddenly snapped. "Do you not remember anything I taught you? Did I teach you to give up as soon as something became too difficult for you?"

"No," Willow replied, somewhat taken aback by her mentor's sudden outburst. "You encouraged me to persevere with everything. You think I should-"

"I don't think you should do anything, Willow," Giles turned to make his way out of the library. He cast one last glance back over his shoulder. "However, if I might make a suggestion, I believe Hampshire would be a good place to continue your search."

Before Willow could interrogate Giles as to his sudden interest in her work, he disappeared through the large doors that led out into the museum proper. Willow couldn't bring herself to do something as unseemly as run through the library to catch up to him. Instead she stood rooted to the same spot with a puzzled expression on her face. She already thoroughly disliked the idea of having to leave London. Going alone was out of the question, she'd have to twist Faith's arm to get her to come along.

* * *

The sun had long since disappeared below the horizon. The curtains were drawn in Lara Croft's office, only the golden glow of a single lamp served to bring light to the room and it failed to reach to the spaces of the cavernous ceiling. Much of the room was shrouded in shadow save the desk space around the lamp where Lara worked, head bent over several pages in front of her. Long, delicate fingers grasped a pen. It was currently poised above the page as she read the lines already written. Her brow furrowed gently before she continued writing with strokes of precision. Lara wrote non-stop for the better part of ten minutes before she glanced up suddenly at the sound of her door latch being rattled. As the door swung inwards, Lara set the pen down. There was no trace of surprise on her face when she saw who it was. Just as she was the only person who would dare put her feet up on Lara's desk, Faith was also the only person who would enter without bothering to knock.

Faith was not wearing her scarlet jacket, just a plain white shirt and a pair of man's trousers tucked into riding boots. Her roughly bound hair was escaping around her face and down her neck as though she had been engaged in some sort of wild exertion. She paused to lean against the bookshelves behind her, arms folded brazenly across her chest.

"In all my years in this business, I have never had a more insubordinate employee," Lara remarked, leaning back in her hair and calmly regarding the young woman standing in front of her.

Obviously this comment pleased Faith immensely as she smiled broadly. She straightened up and let her arms fall to her side as she sauntered across the space between the door and the desk. Faith planted both palms face down on the desk. She leaned inwards, over the desk and towards Lara with the smile still fixed on her face.

"Have you had a chance to read my report yet?" Faith asked, although the tone of her voice was clearly not meant for such a mundane question.

Lara saw straight through Faith's question as a small smile played across her lips. She rose slowly from her chair, obviously she had been sitting for some hours and her bad leg had stiffened. With Faith looking on with a hungry gaze, Lara moved around the table, past Faith and to the settee which was tucked against the bookshelves on the far side of the office. Leaning back against its elevated headrest, she swung her leg up with a small sigh.

As Faith shifted slightly so she could face Lara she saw the elegant brunette tug back her skirts and petticoats to reveal a pale but lithe leg, terribly marred by a series of brutal scars. She also saw a look on Lara's face that she had never seen before, one of anguish and disgust.

When Lara glanced back up towards Faith, the look was gone, erased as though it had never been there in the first place.

"I've faced stone statues that come to life, more daemon hounds than I care to remember, vampires, zombies, werewolves, flying demons, subterranean demons…dozens of demons all at once…and the only creature that's ever come close to killing me was a bloody crocodile in Australia. I found myself lying on a wooden table in the middle of nowhere with a knife pressed to the throat of the only doctor for miles around. I swore I'd slit his throat if he cut my leg off."

"Well…you still have your leg so I guess he's still breathing?" Faith could think of nothing else to say.

"Lucky for both of us," Lara commented wryly, she made to pull her skirts back over the scars. "Sorry…I don't usually-"

Faith was across the floor before Lara could continue her apology. She found no further need for one as Faith's warm lips closed in upon her own. Lara lifted her head slightly to meet her and within a few moments the two women were locked in a languorous embrace. Lara was only dimly aware of her hands stroking Faith's back through the fabric of her shirt as she lost herself to the emotions she felt coursing through her body. It was not merely months, but years of pent up frustration that was released in the steaming hot breath escaping from her pressed lips.

When Faith's hand moved beneath her skirts and continued to worm its warm up her leg, beneath her drawers, Lara encouraged her with a slight shifting of weight in her hips. While she had not intended the movement to come across as a blatant thrust against Faith's hand, that was nevertheless how Faith perceived it. The brunette laughed lightly in her ear, a rush of warm breath that sent her extremities into a tingling frenzy. The frenzy spread across her entire body as Faith's fingers found what they had been searching for, eagerly delving into the warm folds between her legs. The thrusting motion of her hips was no longer a subtle shifting of weight as she began to move against the firm stroking motions of Faith's fingers.

Faith then slipped one arm beneath Lara's neck to support herself, the unused fingers of that hand curling around to brush against Lara's cheek. Lara found herself leaning into that touch, even taking Faith's fingers in her mouth as the pace increased. A small cry escaped her lips as the index finger of her other hand slipped past the already quite moist folds. The cries did not abate as Faith thrust gently upwards until her finger was buried as deeply as possible and her palm jammed firmly against the clit beneath it.

"Do you want this?" she heard Faith whispered in her ear.

The question was redundant. As Lara felt Faith begin to move her hips in time with the thrusting motion of her hand she knew there was only one conclusion that they could possibly reach…and that required Faith continuing exactly what she was doing. To ensure she did not stop or move away Lara wrapped one leg around Faith's back. That action was apparently all the answer that Faith needed as she increased the pace of her thrusting, her hips surging forward with each stroke. She buried her face in Lara's neck as she moved, filling her ears with the regular intensity of her breathing.

Faith's movements took Lara to a place she had not been in a long time, that foggy haze of pleasure where one could get lost forever or drown completely. As she allowed herself to be drawn even further into the world that just the two of them shared, she heard herself whisper the brunette's name fiercely, like an oath. Faith was making sounds of her own, they could have possibly been words or grunts of exertion. Whatever they were they did not make any sense in the midst of the pleasant haze in Lara's mind. She felt Faith's body move against her own, the way the muscles rippled beneath her shirt, and the feel of not one but two fingers thrust inside her. They moved easily through the slick folds, each time seeming to move deeper and hit a new spot that felt even more pleasurable if that were possible. She was also aware of Faith's palm moving firmly against her clit, almost roughly stroking the hard little nubbin of flesh in time with her thrusting.

Although Lara knew that little time had passed, the frenzy of Faith's movements and her own pent-up need guaranteed that her orgasm came swiftly. When it did, she arched her back and tried to stifle the cries bursting from her lips as she knew Cordelia would no doubt be behind her desk just on the other side of the door. Faith was there to quickly smother the cries with her lips, continuing to move even as Lara's body bucked beneath her weight. She felt the walls of her cunt spasm around the fingers that moved within. For one intense, drawn-out moment, her world imploded and was reduced to two bodies struggling against one another. Faith's fiercely thrusting body was contained within her own sweaty thighs. As she rode out the violent orgasm, she found herself instinctively squeezing Faith's body as though it were a lifeline.

When the moment was over she felt drained and her thighs slipped from their position, one falling to rest against the back of the couch while the other protruded out over the edge as she rested her foot on the floor. For the first time she was aware of just how heavy Faith was as she lay across her body, the majority of her weight now resting on her middle. Faith's talented hand still lay within the puddle that was her cunt, she felt the seat of her drawers to be damp with spilt juices and in a moment of silliness she worried that the couch may have been stained as a result of their impromptu lovemaking.

Such thoughts of dirty upholstery were banished a moment later as Faith resumed the lazy kiss that had been interrupted by even more sinful pleasures. It was a tired but intimate exploration of lips, ending with Faith nuzzling against Lara's nose in a tender expression that seemed completely at odds with her boisterous personality. She smiled before nestling her cheek against Lara's chest, no doubt listening as the rapidly beating organ gradually slowed. Other residues of their lovemaking remained, a pleasant musky, sweaty smell hung in the air while Faith's hand remained nestled between Lara's legs.

Neither felt the need for any conversation for several minutes until Lara spoke just as Faith was drifting into a pleasant waking dream.

"Have any developments been made regarding the information you collected in Tirgsor?" Lara whispered.

Lara tried to remove all traces sensuality from her voice but with Faith's warm, weight lying across her body, this was not quite successful. As a result, her words came out with less weight than she would have ordinarily given to such a matter of importance.

"You speak of business at a time like this?" Faith glanced up at the woman's face, her chin brushing Lara's. "Truly woman, you are preoccupied beyond all reason…or am I not as intoxicating as I have always led myself to believe?"

Lara laughed, a brief throaty sound. "You are that…and more, but always at the back of my mind is the knowledge that there are matters of great concern lurking in the world, matters that I must deal with and that I must send my people out into the world to deal with."

"Has this got something to do with, Rosenberg?" Faith asked quietly, turning away from Lara's distracted gaze and resting her head in the crook of her shoulder.

"Perhaps," Lara replied evasively.

"Care to enlighten me?" Faith asked, even though she already knew the answer. She did not expect favours just because they had just shared an intimate moment.

"You will soon realise that being my lover admits you only so far into my confidence." There was a distinct note of reluctance to Lara's sigh.

Faith raised her eyebrows. "So I'm your lover now?"

Lara's lips curled up into a rueful smile, "Officially I am as cold and frigid as the Arctic seas. Unofficially, I am yours…as little as there is of me to give."

Faith rolled over within Lara's arms and propped herself up so she could work at the buttons one the front of her employer's dress.

With several deft movements she had the garment open to just above Lara's navel. The chemise in her path was then rather savagely ripped open by her powerful grip to finally bare Lara's breasts. The magnificent appendages rose rhythmically with Lara's still heavy breathing. A few bubbles of sweat lay nestled in her cleavage.

"I wouldn't say there is little of you at all," Faith whispered as she ducked her head to take the nearest parcel of flesh into her mouth.


	7. Tu fui, ego eris

**Chapter Seven  
T****u fui, ego eris**

_5__th__ February 1778_

_To say that I have been deliriously happy over the past few weeks would be nothing short of an understatement. I have come to understand what being in love actually means and I would go as far to venture that most women of my class would not understand or indeed ever experience such a wondrous thing. I pity those poor creatures. While many of them spent this afternoon of Captain Van Helsing's birthday at Hagley Park entombed within the drawing room playing bridge, my W and I braved the still lingering winter chill to make our way to Hagley Park's secluded Grecian-style folly. Quite sheltered there from any prying eyes, we lost ourselves in each other's touch as we have been want to do so often over the past few weeks. I found myself drawn down onto W's lap as she sat with her back against one of the marble pillars, my skirts bunched scandalously high to reveal my white thighs in broad daylight. An unthinkable act for an unmarried woman and yet my W had seen so much more of me that I did not care. _

_Since that wondrous January night, we have grown bold in our meetings, perhaps too bold. It was proven that afternoon as W and I were ensconced in a lingering kiss. Our world where just the two of us existed was brought crashing in upon us with the sound of a small cough. In a flurry of skirts we separated and stood to find the dashing birthday boy staring up at us from the bottom of the steps. The Captain bore not a look of disgusted horror, but rather one of gentle bemusement as we both checked our attire and hair. We had no sooner fixed our garments into place than a whole party of at least a dozen people came traipsing along the path, all young people of our own age who had no doubt sought to take in some of the scenery of Hagley Park even in the cold air. We smiled politely when they exclaimed over our flushed cheeks, thinking that we must be frozen in the winter air and that we should re-join them in the drawing room for a cup of tea to revive ourselves. I knew full well as W glanced over her shoulder when we descended the stairs that we both felt more than revived already._

_We settled at the back of the party alongside W's gracious brother and I could not help but admire the young man for what he was. Ridiculously handsome and charming to be sure…but also very much a decent man. _

"_It was all I could do to outrun the pack and warn you both. I think the picture would have been far less pleasing to their eyes," W's brother nodded to the men and women striding ahead, all of them gossiping harpies and complete bores._

"_And the picture was pleasing to your eye?" W snapped in a playful tone. "Brother, if you indulged in gazing upon Miss Maclay's thighs…" _

"_I did nothing of the sort. I only meant pleasing in terms of seeing my sister happy and with someone who clearly loves her," he replied, keeping his voice down so that our conversation did not carry ahead to the rest of the group. _

_He then offered out an arm to each of us and we took it, W planting a small kiss on her brother's cheek. I could not help but wish that all people were of the same ilk as the dashing Captain. Despite the frivolity of the moment and the amusement of our narrow escape, I could not help but dread the many possible endings of our little fairytale…almost all of them disastrously unhappy for W and I. This dread was heightened as Edward Walsh removed himself from the group ahead and politely offered to take me off Abraham's arm. I could do naught in the situation but graciously accept his proffered arm. I cast one desperate look back at W as Edward swept me away from her. _

"_We've missed your company for much of the day," he whispered in a too-sweet voice. "Whatever have you and W been doing all this time?"_

_My whole body was gripped with a spasm of fear as his fingers dug deep into my arm. I glanced up at his sickly smile and was terrified to think that he might see the truth in my eyes. Even now as I sit here and write these words I can lift the sleeve of my nightgown to reveal the bruises his fingers left on my flesh._

* * *

Willow sat up with a start and immediately regretted the sudden movement. She had fallen asleep on her desk with her neck craned at an awkward angle. Now as she straightened up she was instantly reminded that sitting in a chair at her desk was not the ideal sleeping position. She glanced up at her tiny window to see that dawn was not far away. The first fingers of light creeping out across the tiny sliver of sky she could see. As she attempted to stretch out the rather painful crook in her neck, she remembered the dream that had kept her sleeping so deeply in her awkward position. Further evidence of this deep sleep was provided by the drool which covered the papers upon which her cheek had lain. As she picked them up to wipe it off with her handkerchief, her eyes fell upon the little diary. Without thinking too much about why she was doing so, Willow picked up the small volume and flicked through the pages to the next unread entry.

_To say that I have been deliriously happy…_

Even as Willow scanned the first few sentences she realised that she knew exactly what happened in the entry. From the Grecian folly, to the writer's white thighs (which caused Willow's heart to race) and the interruption of the two women's kissing - it was written exactly as it had played out in her dream. She realised that she had dreamt everything from the perspective of the 'W' person. She remembered the feel of the blonde woman's lips on her own. She lifted her fingertips and distinctly remembered the feel of the silky white skin on the woman's thighs. The one thing that was missing was the woman's face, try as she might, Willow could not remember what she looked like…only that she had been completely intoxicating.

Willow set the little book down before she could lose herself again. She eyed the diary for a few moments as though she expected it to speak to her. A part of her even wanted to be rid of it altogether. This part eventually lost the argument. Willow pushed her chair back and rose slowly to her feet. The movement was accompanied by a slight groan as she moved stiff limbs. Her legs managed to carry her as far as one of the heavily laden bookshelves behind her. She scanned the carefully categorised shelves until found the volume she desired. With the heavy tome cradled in both hands, she walked the few steps back to her desk. Exercise done for the time being, Willow settled herself back in her chair with the book propped up on the desk.

When Faith arrived at work a good hour later that morning, she found Willow completely ensconced in the book. The red-head was so ensconced that did not even look up when her friend entered her office.

Unperturbed by Willow's lack of greeting, Faith smiled broadly. "Ah, now that's a pretty sight. I've been coming in here lately to find you involved in odd pastimes like drawing, now you're back to reading. It's comforting."

Willow glanced up with surprise clearly registering on her face as she slammed the book shut. "Hello…errr, how long have you been there? Not long I hope because I was just doing some important research and was quite caught up. I'm sorry if I ignored you…reading and all, you know me."

Faith made herself a perch on Willow's desk, something of a feat considering the amount of material that covered the desk. Willow reached out and snatched a few of her more valuable items before Faith sat on them and in doing so, she let the book in front of her slip from her grasp. Faith was quick to seize the volume up, flipping it over to read the cover before Willow could reach out and stop her.

"A Treatise on Reincarnation?" Faith read in an amused tone. "What are you planning on coming back as?"

Willow stood so she was in a better position to snatch the book back off Faith, once it was safely back in her hands she turned and deposited it back in its spot on the shelf as though she had no intention of reading further. She faced Faith with a thoughtful expression on her face.

"Not coming back so much so much as already returned," Willow began awkwardly. She paused before continuing, "Faith, do you believe in it...in reincarnation I mean? I've studied extensively and come across a lot of seemingly unexplainable things in my time here but I've never felt so strange about anything in my life. I honestly think I'm losing my mind and it's all because of that stupid diary you found. You know what; I think I'll blame you for bringing it back with you."

Faith arched her eyebrows. "You do sound odder than usual, Willow…and not your customary scatty, intellectual oddness either. I think you need some fresh air…and what the hell is up with your hair? Have you been sleeping on your desk again?"

Willow avoided answering Faith's question but she did reach up both hands and drag them through the tangled red strands on her head in a perfunctory manner. Faith just shook her head at the complete hopelessness of the woman standing in front of her as an amused smile played across her lips.

"Faith, will you come to Hampshire with me?" Willow asked suddenly.

The smile faded from Faith's lips and her brow furrowed as though she were trying to work out exactly what was going on in her friend's head. "Hampshire? Willow, why would I want to go to bloody Hampshire other than to see dairy cows...which I really don't want to do."

Willow stood on the other side of her desk, leaning forward with both hands resting on the edge in an attempt to create a semblance of authority…of which of course she had none.

"Because this is important to the museum," she insisted.

"Important to the museum or important to you?" Faith asked in an accusatory tone.

Willow buckled slightly under Faith's tone but her answer was just as firm. "Okay, I need these answers for my own sanity…but I have a feeling that they go much wider. Someone needs me to get to the bottom of that diary and for that I need to go to Hampshire and get to the bottom of 'W Van Helsing.' There's something important here Faith, and I have the feeling it's going to affect us all."

Faith folded her arms and pursed her lips in a thoughtful manner. "You're not one to act an instincts, Will. You act on facts, which is why I will come with you. You're acting so strangely I'm afraid you'll run off to Hampshire by yourself."

"I could," Willow insisted, lifting her chin defiantly. "There's nothing I should worry about in Hampshire anyway."

"Not ordinarily," Faith grinned. "But I'm sure you'll mange to find some element of trouble wherever you go. When do we leave?"

* * *

Impatient to at least start unravelling the mystery, Willow dragged Faith to the train station that very afternoon. Both women travelled light with just a small bag between them and an innocuous looking case concealing a small arsenal of Faith's weapons. The journey south into the heart of Hampshire was uneventful, Willow promptly buried herself in a book and Faith fell asleep before the train had even left London. She did not wake until Willow prodded her awake at their destination a little over an hour and a half later. The redhead was somewhat miffed to see that Faith sprang into action with her attire and hair as perfect as they had been when she boarded the train.

Thanks to the Museum's connections, there was a small two seated carriage drawn by a rather placid looking grey horse waiting for them when they alighted at the station. Faith glanced around, quite used to being in the middle of nowhere and turned to Willow who was struggling with a rather unwieldy map.

"Know where we're going?" she asked.

"I think so," was Willow's less than convincing reply as she squinted to try and read the map correctly.

Faith groaned loudly as Willow moved towards the carriage without retrieving any of their luggage from the platform. The redhead did not look up from the map until the horse tethered to their carriage emitted a rather disgusted snort. She gave a sharp, surprised squeal, dropped the map and stumbled back a few steps to put more distance between herself and the horse which was eyeing her as though it wanted to take a bite out of her arm. As if sensing this, Willow folded her arms tightly across her chest and kept the horse in her sights (not that he was going anywhere).

"I take it I'll be driving then," Faith announced as she breezed past Willow and deposited their bags behind the seats, she then moved to stroke the horses' forehead as though to taunt Willow further.

Without taking her eyes off the horse, Willow clambered up into the carriage and seated herself stiffly on the padded seat. Faith mounted the carriage a few moments later and untied the reins. She glanced across at Willow and grinned contentedly before she urged the horse forward with an exuberantly loud cry of encouragement. Willow was thrown back against the seat as the horse sensed Faith's enthusiasm and obviously felt spurred to move as fast as possible. With Faith perched forward in the seat gripping the reins like someone possessed, Willow was forced to hang on for dear life.

Luckily for Willow the horse had slowed eventually and she managed to give Faith directions to the church in a barely tremulous voice, maintaining some semblance of dignity. When the carriage eventually clattered to a halt at the gates to the church ground, Willow glanced across at the church. It was unremarkable, just a tiny parish church like so many others that dotted the English landscape. There was a tiny steeple atop its slanted tile roof and narrow arched windows that pierced its walls. Both women climbed down from the carriage, Faith stopping long enough to open her weapons case and retrieve her favourite weapons, a sword and dagger which she belted around her waist.

The sun had almost disappeared completely as they picked their way through the small graveyard that surrounded the church, just a few fading rays illuminating their path.

"Two field trips in a week, Will, you'll be ruining your reputation soon." Faith grinned across at Willow as she opened the heavy oak door. Is hinges protested with a loud screech at being disturbed.

"For a good reason," Willow muttered. "You drag me off to a warehouse that's being staked out by a particularly nasty demon that I have to save you from…and then if I remember rightly two years before that you lured me to that house in Shepherd's Bush with the promise of an untouched library. There was no library and a whole family of violent, restless spirits!"

Faith shrugged. "It's good for you to get out of the office."

Willow pulled a face behind Faith's back as she led the way inside. The air inside the church was heavy with age and musty with disuse. While it did not appear to be totally abandoned, its days of being full of worshipers were long behind it. Everything bore a thin layer of dust; no one had walked down the aisle nor sat on the pews for some time. Willow glanced down at her footprints in the dust and felt a chill run down her spine, suppose there was a good reason for the lack of parishioners? She felt icy cold fingers on the back of her neck and squealed loudly, her scream echoing around the vaulted ceiling.

"Will," it was Faith, a broad grin on her face. "We're in a church. We couldn't possibly be in any less danger. You know, you really ought to try going once in a while."

Willow frowned disbelievingly as her friend slipped past her towards the pulpit. "You go to church?"

"Of course," Faith glanced back over her shoulder. "With everything I see in my line of work…well, let's just say it gives me a sense of peace."

Willow stopped walking and studied Faith's back as she too stopped just in line with the front pew and stared up at the stained glass window. Willow glanced upwards too, grimy and dull though the window was, it was still beautiful in the fading light. While Faith's words were definitely not an admission of weakness, it had still come as a surprise to Willow to realise that there was something she didn't know about her friend. For a moment it caused her to take stock of how well she really knew the other woman and she was somewhat saddened to admit that she did not know her as well as she would have liked.

"Faith, I'm sorry," she said quietly, hardly daring to disturb the other woman's brief peaceful respite.

She crossed the distance between them to Faith's side, feeling somewhat closer to her due to their physical proximity.

"What have you gone and done now?" was Faith's immediate response.

"I just meant I'm sorry for not being as good a friend as I ought to be. I watch you leave for dark destinations unknown and all I'm really interested in is whether you come back with books. It just seems a bit-"

"Shallow…single-minded?" Faith finished quickly but moments later she glanced across at Willow with an appreciative smile. "I like you just the way you are Willow, don't try and change for anyone."

"But-" Willow began.

Faith was quick to cut her off. "Enough with the sentimental stuff Willow or I'll start to worry that you do have a thing for me. Haven't you got something you came here to do?"

Willow felt a hot flush creep into her cheeks and she nodded quickly. She moved to a small stack of registers that were neatly placed in an alcove to one side. She ran her figures over their handsomely bound leather spines and was dismayed when she saw her fingertips blacken with a layer of dust. Withdrawing her handkerchief from her coat pocket, she spent a good minute dusting the half a dozen volumes until she was satisfied that she had discharged her self-imposed duty. After stuffing her dirty handkerchief back into her pocket, she selected a volume tucked in the middle of the shelf. Carrying it solemnly, she deposited it on the pulpit next to the worn bible.

"Better you than me," Faith quipped as she leant over Willow's shoulder to see the cramped rows of records, each one undecipherable to her untrained eye.

Willow pursed her lips thoughtfully as she scanned the dates of births and deaths recorded in the parish register, there were a good number of Van Helsings scattered throughout.

"Our dear friend Abe was born in 1754…" Willow whispered as she quickly scanned the dates. "Here he is, christened on 24th May 1754, Abraham Theodore Van Helsing, son of Pieter and Marianne."

"Why so many Van Helsings?" Faith reached out and traced her finger down the list; indeed, there were several more christenings for the same family.

Willow shrugged. "Infant mortality was high - sickly infants were christened as soon as possible." She too ran her finger down the page and read out the entry each time she came to a Van Helsing. "A daughter 15th October 1755, died four days later, son born and died 24th August 1757 , son born and died 5th January 1759, daughter born 6th October 1760…there's no date of death but no name either."

"Is that strange?" Faith asked.

"Not really, it could simply be that she too was expected to die and they did not name her at the time of her christening. It appears though that she must have lived," Willow continued scanning downwards and directly beneath the entry for the unnamed daughter was another 'Van Helsing', "Marianne Van Helsing, died 6th October 1760." Willow had the horrible thought that she had died in childbirth.

Beneath that entry were no further entries for Van Helsing until several pages later where 'Pieter Van Helsing' was listed as having passed away in 1775.

"So Abe had a sister?" Faith stated as Willow closed the heavy volume. "But without a name it's just speculation as to whether she was the 'W Van Helsing' that deposited the diary."

"Right," Willow replied, her gruff voice betraying her disappointment.

As they exited the church almost half an hour later, (Willow having paused to give the books another, more thorough, dusting) Willow ran through the facts she'd stored in her head about the Van Helsings. She already knew as much as was written about Abe's professional life but the small snippets of his personal life she had gleamed added little overall. He had a sister and they were left orphaned when Abe had been a young man of twenty-one and his sister barely fifteen. Still she knew the family had money so neither would have suffered for lack of options - Abraham for choices with his career and his sister for suitable marriage prospects.

"I'm sorry I dragged you all this way for almost nothing," Willow told Faith as they made their way through the church's small graveyard with only a weak moonlight to guide them back to the carriage. "If Giles hadn't been so insistent on my following up this lead I wouldn't have bothered. I cannot see any relevance to my Vlad Tepes research, if there was the smallest hint I would follow it up but-"

"It's okay you don't have to justify yourself to me. I know you, Will, you'd sniff out any research trail. I don't understand why Giles was so insistent though." Faith picked her way between the weathered headstones.

"I have no idea-" Willow began a split second before Faith's hand shot hand and grabbed her arm, sharp nails digging into her skin even through her jacket. "What the hell-"

Willow spun in Faith's grip and made to snatch her arm away but there was something on her friend's face that made her freeze. She watched as Faith's free hand moved to the hilt of her sword and gripped it with white knuckles.

"Will, get behind me," Faith hissed in a low voice.

When Faith used that tone Willow knew she should do exactly as told, she scrambled behind her and in doing so saw exactly what was between them and the carriage. She had an extremely unpleasant flashback to a dark warehouse and a stinking creature pinning her to the ground, gobs of salvia dripping over her face as a mouth full of barred fangs grinned down at her.

"Faith…it's a -it's a - it's a…" Willow stammered, unable to force the relevant words out.

"You don't need to tell me, I know what it bloody well is!" Faith drew her sword in one swift stroke, the blade rasping against the scabbard in a familiar sound that meant business.

Willow's eyes did not leave the Atramen as it moved closer to the two women. It was almost identical to the one they faced in the warehouse although she had seen that one go up in flames. If anything though, this one was even larger with muscles rippling beneath its skin. As Faith moved in front of her, sword at the ready, Willow caught movement out of the corner of her eye. She felt weak at the knees when she turned to see a second spiky headed demon, its massive white eyes shining in the moonlight, huge grin barred as though it were laughing at them.

"Ah…Faith! There's two of them!" Willow squeaked as she reached out and grabbed Faith's arm, dragging her around to face the second Atramen which was approaching from the opposite direction. She made a mental note to amend her paper where she had stated that Atramen never worked in pairs…citing personal experience as her reference.

"Bloody hell," Faith hissed, her knuckles white on the hilts of her sword and dagger. "I don't suppose there's any point in saying I'll take this one if you get the other?"

"What?" Willow yelped, clutching at Faith's arm desperately, "What am I going to do to it? Bore it to death with the collected works of Aeschylus?"

"It'd work for me!" Faith hissed through gritted teeth. She was constantly moving and watching their foes despite Willow's awkward weight on her arm. "Here take this."

Willow found the hilt of Faith's dagger pressed into her hand. She glanced down at the foot long weapon, completely unaccustomed to its weight. She stared at it as one would stare at an unwanted appendage. "What am I supposed to do with this?"

"I should think it obvious," Faith was already occupied with the closest Atramen as it stalked her, poised to strike. "If they get anywhere near you, stick it into them!"

That was the only good advice Faith had to offer before the Atramen leapt directly towards her with all its astonishing speed and strength. She roughly shoved Willow to one side, safely out of the creature's path, even as she weaved beneath its strike. A clawed foot narrowly missed her head but she did not dwell on narrow escapes, instead spinning to face the Atramen as it landed. The creature did not pause for a second. Its feet barely touched the ground before it darted to one side to avoid Faith's sword plunging into the middle of its back. Faith lunged forward, missing by a hair and the demon caught her extended wrist in a vice like grip. Her arm was twisted awkwardly but she managed to hold onto her sword and bring her elbow backwards to catch the creature sharply in the stomach. It merely grunted and did not release her from its hold, instead snaring her in an even more dangerous position as its other arm locked around her neck. Faith struggled even as the creature drew her backwards against its body. With a grunt of supreme effort torn from her throat, Faith lurched forward and threw the demon up over her back and crashing to the ground in front of her. With each breath coming short and fast, she too did not pause for an instant. With the creature on its back in front of her she changed her grip on her sword and plunged it downwards. The sword sank into nothing but earth as the Atramen rolled aside. A mere split second later it was standing once more and they began another round, each trying to catch the other off guard, each looking for an opening to tear a mortal wound in the other.

Faith's frantic bout with the Atramen had lasted mere seconds; meanwhile, Willow was rising from the damp grass where Faith's shove had sent her flying. Even as she rose to her feet, using a nearby headstone to steady herself, she saw the second Atramen slip behind a headstone of a huge winged angel. She watched for it to emerge from the other side but it did not, Willow risked a quick glance over her shoulder to see Faith grappling with her own foe. Even before she laid eyes on her friend, she knew she was alone. Her gaze jerked back to face the winged angel headstone, the serene gaze of the celestial creature seeming to mock her in her terror. She lifted the dagger so it was clearly visible out in front of her, hoping the demon would at least perceive her as something of a threat. Any hope of that was ruined by the manner in which the blade trembled violently as a result of the spasms of fear that gripped her entire body. The ridiculous situation did not escape Willow's attention; she was alone facing a powerful demon that Faith with all her skills and seeming fearlessness struggled to defeat. She clearly remembered setting alight the Atramen at the warehouse but despite the matches she had tucked safely in her pocket, there was no conveniently placed oil lamp to create a flammable missile. She half-heartedly wondered whether flinging individual matches at the creature would accomplish anything.

Willow circled the grave where the Atramen lurked, all the while her own hoarse breaths drowned out the sound of the struggle going on behind her between Faith and the demon. The creature was taunting her. Willow suspected it could smell her fear and knew full well how scared she was. Matters were not helped with a sharp cry of pain from behind her from Faith. Willow did not dare take her eyes off the demon in front of her. She knew the moment she did it would leap on her and tear her arms off with one savage pull. As much as she feared for her friend, she needed the use of her arms more. When the attack came it was as swift as Willow had expected but she was still not prepared for it. The demon's feet slammed into her chest and sent her flying back several metres, luckily landing on a patch of grass instead of a headstone. Even though she felt like her chest was about to collapse, Willow rolled just as a fist came crashing down into the earth where her head had been moments before. She scrambled to her feet as the agile creature leapt back into a standing position, snarling as she ducked behind a large stone cross. Rather than go around the stone to get to Willow, the Atramen simply smashed straight through it with one swing of its fist. Willow was showered with fragments of the cross as she scrambled backwards. She reached down and retrieved one of the larger fragments, hurling it at the demon's head with a grunt of effort. The stone found its mark, breaking off several of the spike's protruding from the demon's head. Even as it howled in pain, Willow darted forward, blood pounding with adrenalin, and made to plunge the dagger straight into its chest. She came close before her wrist was seized and twisted; the dagger fell from her grasp. Before she realised what was happening her throat was ensnared by a huge fist and her feet were off the ground. As she struggled for a breath, Willow's fingers frantically worked to release herself from the grip around her neck but it was vice-like. As she began to see spots at the edge of her vision, she found herself flying, thrown backwards by the creature. This time she did strike a headstone, it caught her across the back and she was in intense pain as she fell to the ground. Willow struggled to stand but an awkward crawl on her hands and knees was the most she could manage. She glanced upwards in time to see Faith in the distance as she fought. Willow's mouth opened in shock as she saw the Atramen move beneath her swinging sword and ram its outstretched clawed fingers into her side. She saw Faith fall like a sack of potatoes into an unmoving heap on the ground.

"Faith!" Willow could not stop the yell that escaped from her lips. Her fingers scrambled in the earth beneath her as she struggled to find the strength to stand.

She heaved herself up and managed a groggy sort of stumble before she realised that both Atramen now had her as their sole target. Weapon-less, Willow watched them moved towards her - a pair of deadly demons poised to strike a final blow on the helpless researcher.

Even as Willow resisted the urge to squeeze her eyes shut and wait for the end, she felt her hair whipped about her face by a sudden gust of wind. Both Atramen froze as though they had seen something behind Willow in the darkness. If anything she thought they were afraid. Willow lost sight of them moments later as an even stronger gust of wind threw her back to the ground. With a grunt Willow hit the earth, wiping any last reserves of strength she had with impact. Even on the ground she was aware of another figure moving besides the two demons. As she struggled to lift her head, she caught glimpses of a dark shape moving to stand between herself and the demons.

"Cremo!" the ethereal shape yelled in a terrible, infuriated voice.

The voice rang deafeningly in a dazed Willow's ears. She glanced up at that moment to see a dark cloak billowing like mist around a shadowy figure. Blonde hair flew, rendered almost silver in the moonlight. The figure moved, seemingly a part of the night until a violent burst of light came from first one outstretched hand and then the other in rapid succession. Although the sudden intense light burnt Willow's eyes and the heat seared her skin, she could not tear her gaze away. The flying balls of fire slammed into both Atramen even as they made to flee. She stared transfixed as they fell to the ground between the headstones, writhing in agony, mouths bared in silent screams until all movement ceased and they were merely burning husks on the ground.

Willow's first instinct was to run but she found standing hard enough. Only with both hands gripping the headstone in front of her could she drag herself onto her feet. Even then she found her knees could hardly support her weight. Faith's dagger was lying several feet away but she no sooner could have dived for it than she could have made fireballs shoot out of her own hands. In fact, she could do absolutely nothing save stand on her shaking legs as the dark figure approached. It stepped into the weak firelight of the burning bodies and Willow's jaw dropped as she saw the pale fire illuminated in front of her. The fire cast a flickering glow onto the marble white skin of the woman who had haunted her dreams these past months. Her white blonde hair was loose and fell down over her black riding cloak. The hood was folded back and settled over her shoulders. Beneath the coat Willow could see a little of high collared black dress which swirled as she walked towards her. The strangest element of the whole picture was the tiny smile on her face, just the barest hint of a lopsided curve of her gorgeous lips. Lips that Willow lost herself in until they opened and the woman spoke.

"One wonders why you do not find a new line of work, Willow Rosenberg. It would seem that you are ill-suited to fighting demons." Gone were the harsh tones in which she had utter the single word moments before. Her voice was soft and melodious.

"Well this one wonders who the bloody heck you are!" Willow was quick to retort, her anger serving to mask her fear almost completely.

The blonde woman arched an eyebrow reproachfully and Willow instantly regretted her bad manners, whoever or whatever she was, this woman had saved her life for a second time and she deserved more than heated demands for answers…even though there were answers that Willow desperately wanted.

"Who I am is not important," she spoke softly as she moved, circling Willow while keeping her piercing gaze fixed on her. "You should be asking who she is."

She moved her gaze away from Willow, seemingly to gaze at a small marble headstone at her feet. Warily, Willow too circled around to stand so she could read the gravestone, all the while keeping a respectable distance between herself and the pale woman. She managed to drag her eyes away from her eerily beautiful visage to stare at the grave marker that commanded the woman's attention. The analyst in Willow immediately noted that where most headstones in the cemetery were heavily scarred by the ravages of time and weather, this particular marker could have been placed just yesterday. The words there were etched deeply in the white rock. Momentarily forgetting the woman that stood at her side, Willow was gripped by the sudden urge to be closer to the grave. She knelt on the well-tended grass and reached out to trace the words with her fingers as she read them aloud in an audibly trembling voice.

"W-Willow…" her voice choked on the word as though she had never uttered it before even though it was her own name. She had to paused and draw in a few deeps breaths before she could continue. "Willow Van Helsing…born on the sixth of October 1760, died on the seventh of June 1785. _T__u fui, ego eris_."

A soft voice spoke behind her to translate even though Willow knew exactly what it said. "What you are, I was. What I am, you will be."

A shiver crawled slowly up Willow's spine as she heard the translation, she did not know whether it was the words or the manner in which it was said that troubled her the most.

"We all die," Willow replied matter-of-factly as she straightened up and took a few steps backwards, away from the grave.

"Yes we do," the blonde woman turned to face Willow but kept her head turned to face the grave for a few moments longer. "But I think that you alone could interpret that particular inscription on that particular grave in a different way."

She eventually drew her gaze away from the stone and turned to face Willow, her expression betraying very little and certainly giving no hint as to what she meant with her cryptic words.

"What do you mean by that?" Willow demanded, once more forgetting that she had not even thanked the woman. "You can start by explaining everything. Who you are for a start and why the hell you're following me around."

"You did not come here to find those answers, the answers you are looking for lie at your feet. I thought you would realise their importance by how desperately he wants to keep you from them."

"Who's 'he'?" Willow felt as though she were sinking in quicksand, the harder she tried to get out, the deeper she sank. She turned her attention back to the grave and said in a frustrated voice, "It's the grave of Willow Van Helsing…although I cannot be certain, it would seem that she was the 'W. Van Helsing' who deposited the diary at Tirgsor. The dates would seem to agree, she died in 1785, the same year as the diary was deposited."

As he voice trailed off, Willow's frustration seemed to ebb and her mind lingered over the dates etched on the headstone. She felt a cloak of sadness settle on her shoulders as she re-read them in her head.

"She died so young," Willow whispered, thinking of her own twenty-five years and imagining them cut short for some unknown reason. "Do you know how she died?"

Willow tore her gaze away from the headstone and forced herself to meet the gaze of the strange woman that she still knew virtually nothing about. The fact that Willow suspected her to be a vampire lingered uneasily at the back of her mind and she still half expected the beautiful features to twist into savagery moments before ripping her throat out. However, it was hard to dwell on thoughts of this nature in the face of the woman's unearthly beauty and the barely suppressed desire Willow felt for her. She did not know whether to run screaming or throw herself in the woman's arms…vampire or not. When she searched the blue eyes, shining brightly in the moonlight, she found a detectable hint of sadness and knowledge which made Willow think that she did know the answer to her question. Her head tipped forward, blonde hair falling forward over her face. Willow did not know what to think, while her head told her this woman could be a dangerous demon, her heart told her she was a woman who lived and grieved.

"Do you know how Willow Van Helsing died?" Willow repeated in a soft voice and without any trace of her earlier anger and frustration.

"I do," was the quiet response. "And not a day has gone by that I do not think of it." She did not offer any further explanation. Instead, almost a minute later she raised her head and gave Willow a long level look that seemed to bore straight through to her soul. "I do not think I should give you the answers you seek today Willow. I will however off you some advice - take what you have learnt here and dwell on it…in time, you will come to understand and realise how you fit into the puzzle."

"But I haven't learnt anything here…and what puzzle?" Willow asked urgently, she desperately wanted to stay with the woman, even if only to stand in silence with her. Her proximity somehow felt natural. "At least tell me who you are and where I might find you again?"

"Will?" Another voice sounded out in the darkness and Willow was instantly reminded that Faith had been hurt. She had left her lying unconscious on the ground while she traded empty words with this cryptic and insufferable woman in front of her.

Willow spun to see Faith gingerly dragging herself to her feet almost a dozen feet away. While she wanted to run to her friend's side immediately, she also did not want to let the blonde woman out of her sight. "I need those answers-" Willow begun to ask. However when she turned around, the blonde woman was gone. "Bloody hell!"

With a last desperate search of the scene in front of her, Willow turned back to Faith. Her friend was a mess. Her leather pants were, revealing claw-like slashes on her thigh, a dark stain coated the lower half of her torso and there were a series of bloody teeth marks in her neck. Willow reached out to support her as she swayed a little unsteadily from loss of blood.

"Faith?" Willow set her down gently atop a nearby headstone before taking off her jacket and immediately setting about ripping strips from the bottom of her shirt to use as bandages.

Faith winced as she lifted her leg for Willow to bind but said through gritted teeth. "It's just a flesh wound - nothing a few stitches won't fix. I'm sure I could do with a few more scars."

"Sorry," Willow said as she heard a sharp intake of breath when she tied the strip of fabric off firmly. "What about your side? There's a lot of blood."

Faith reached down to lift up her own shirt and Willow could not help but utter her own gasp when she saw the deep, ragged gash in Faith's side. Blood was still flowing from the ugly wound and Willow moved quickly to staunch it before Faith lost any more...and she was also in a hurry to cover up the horrible sight lest she faint

"Sorry," Willow apologised weakly as she heard a full-throated groan this time.

"Just wrap the bloody thing up tightly. I'll live as long as you don't faint!" Faith snapped, seemingly just as annoyed at herself as Willow. "Bloody hell, I hate those things when they're alone and you find two! It's like fighting an army of vampires. Remind me never to go anywhere with you again!"

"Sorry…I didn't realise-"

"Stop saying you're sorry. What happened anyway, last thing I remember those bastards were still roaming around. I may have sliced the arm off one but I'm sure he could've done enough damage. What did you do Willow?"

"Well…" Willow tied off the improvised bandage, knowing full well that she could hardly tell Faith a flame wielding woman, who she suspected was a vampire, had torched the two demons. "I don't know really, one minute they were here. The next they were gone…providence really, maybe they had somewhere better to be?"

"Providence indeed," Faith muttered grimly. "Hurry up and help me to my feet. That arsehole of a village we passed a mile back has to have a doctor of some sort. Although I think you'll have to drive…"

"Are you sure you can't…" Willow began weakly as she glanced in the distance to where the grey horse was still tethered to their carriage, seemingly oblivious to the battle in the graveyard.

"Will, I'm at death's door here," Faith muttered weakly.

"Okay," Willow nodded resolutely as she helped Faith to her feet. "He's a nice horse I'm sure…and it's not far to go…I can do this."

Even as Willow helped Faith from the cemetery, she risked one last glance back. All she saw was the squat little church surrounded by headstones, all seeming to shine in the moonlight. The blonde woman was wiped from her mind as she concentrated on getting help for Faith. If her friend lived and decided not to murder her, there would be plenty of time for her to dwell on what had taken place in the cemetery.

Willow did not glance upwards. If she had, she would have seen the shadowy figure crouched on the ridgepole of the church watching her still. A slight breeze had begun to kick up and Tara's cloak swirled around her body slightly. Her hair stroked the tears that fell on her pale cheeks. It had been difficult to conceal the agony she felt at being so close to Willow. To be so close and not able to reach out and fold her into a fierce embrace had been nothing short of torture. She remembered catching a few strands of her vibrant red hair for a second as she knelt in front of the tombstone and glanced down now at the one strand of hair she still held. With a sigh, Tara let it fall from her fingers. It fell for a moment before being swept off into the darkness by the wind. Tara turned her attention back to the two figures below and watched until Willow had managed to coax the horses back towards the village. Then she was gone.


	8. A Most Sensible Suit

**CHAPTER EIGHT  
A Most Sensible Suit**

_26__th__ February 1778_

_In hindsight I should have known that Edward Walsh harboured me ill intentions following his strange behaviour at the Captain's birthday. I however thought I was safe from the likes of him, safe in my secret world with W. I had not forgotten his marriage proposal of some months past but my response was to simply ignore it until he grew tired of my disinterest and found a more willing bride. While one would expect that brides would be easy enough to come by for a man of his means, tonight it became painfully apparent that it is me he intends to marry. _

_These past few weeks I have spent a grand total of seven glorious days alone at Hagley Park with W. On each occasion I told my mother that W's brother would be at home with a small party of friends including Edward Walsh. We of course would be amply chaperoned at all occasions. There was no small party of friends on any occasion. I did not feel the slightest bit guilty in lying to my mother, especially if it meant time alone with W. I revelled in the sheer decadence of it. We spent much of our time making love. Sometimes I felt as though we had all the time in the world and it was slow, languorous, and yet there were other times when I scared myself with the fierce intensity of my passion for W and my need to be with her completely before she was taken away from me forever. It was tonight I realised that this may happen sooner than I ever anticipated. _

_I forget what tonight's ball was for and I do not think that I ever cared in the slightest, save that it was my duty to be seen. I thought I would at least be consoled by W's presence, even in the midst of a crowd. _

_The night started well. W was by far the most handsome woman in the room. She was attired in a vibrant green silk that had all the gossips speculating as to whose eye she was attempting to catch. Those old hags would have been scandalised to realise it was me. How badly I wanted to tell them just to see the expressions on their sour, judgemental faces. However, I was content to admire her from the apparent perspective of a dearest friend. I even fortunate enough to dance with her on the pre-text of having no other dance partners (it was not a case of not being asked but rather refusing absolutely every gentleman that asked!)_

_Although I knew full well I could not avoid Edward all night, I nevertheless made a valiant attempt. I succeeded until supper. He made polite conversation at first but before I knew quite what was happening he dragged me up onto the small stage beside the musician's stage. With me at his side, he announced our imminent wedding. I was fully aware of his arm linked with mine, seemingly innocent to all assembled. Only I was aware of the painful grip he had on my bare arm as though to speak out in disagreement with his announcement would be a mistake I would regret. The entire room erupted into an enthusiastic cheering and clapping save for two people, one of whom my eyes had sought out as soon as I had recovered from the shock of Edward's announcement. I sought out her gorgeous face to find that all colour had drained from it completely. She was stark white against the vibrancy of her gown and hair. The sweet mouth I loved to kiss was frozen open as though she were struggling to shout something out over the noise in the room. I could discern no further emotion as she turned and made a discreet but hasty exit from the room. I saw her brother's tall figure further towards the back of the room, also staring in shock until he turned and followed his sister from the room. _

_How I longed to tear from Edward's grip and follow them but his grip only tightened to the point where I emitted a small gasp of pain that was lost amidst the cheers. I turned to look at him and saw in his eyes that he had not missed W's exit, nor the reason for it. He lent close to my cheek and the repulsive words that he whispered burn in my mind still._

"_Come our wedding night, you will learn what it is like to feel a man inside of you. I guarantee you will enjoy it far more than the perverted ministrations of that red-headed whore!"_

* * *

Rupert Giles liked to think of himself as a rather unflappable character. However, on this particular morning as he was passing the training room he had the rather unfortunate experience of nearly dying of shock. He heard rather savage sounding yells and cries coming from within and every so often the smack of solid objects coming into contact with one another. He rather discreetly slipped through the door to find the sounds emanating from none other than Willow Rosenberg, clad in nearly full Japanese kendo regalia armed with a bamboo stave, attempting to beat the life out of an unfortunate practice dummy. He could not stop the colour draining from his face, despite her complete lack of technique, and less than traditional shouts, he was struck by the picture she presented and the memories it stirred.

After recovering from his initial shock, Giles managed a polite cough, loud enough to carry across the room and interrupt the redhead in her exertions.

"Giles?" Willow paused in mid-swing, her cheeks flushed red from both exertion and the embarrassment of being caught acting out her frustrations on the practice dummy. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

"I was just reminded of someone I used to know," Giles smiled weakly, taking a few more steps into the room.

Willow's eyebrows lifted disbelievingly as she looked from the practice stave in her gloved hands back to Giles. "This reminds you of someone you used to know?"

"Well, everything save your complete lack of technique and the fact that you're wearing the chest plate upside down." He managed a chuckle in respect to this. "Honestly, I don't see how you even managed to fasten it. Here, let me fix it."

Willow glanced down at the chest plate, furrowing her brow as though figuring out just how she had managed to get it so wrong before turning around to let Giles undo the straps and position it correctly.

"Well, it would remind you of Faith wouldn't it?" Willow asked, shifting slightly as Giles re-strapped the piece of armour.

"No, Willow," Giles said quietly as he laced the straps around her waist. "You do not remind me of Faith. I have seen Faith practice often but she does not favour the Japanese style of swordsmanship…and she also does not use practice to work out her anger."

"I'm not angry-" Willow began before stopping abruptly, realising that of course Giles heard her rather raucous shouts just a few moments earlier.

Giles finished the lacings and turned Willow around to face him, satisfied with his work, he crossed to the neatly stacked practice equipment and selected a robe and armour for himself. Willow watched as he rather deftly pulled on each piece of equipment until he was attired exactly the same as she was. She was more than a little nervous as Giles crossed the pads to stand in front of her with his own stave raised in front of him.

"Giles, are you sure about this?" Willow tentatively lifted her stave. "I'm pretty angry and I have a big stick. I don't want to hurt you."

She had absolutely no warning when Giles sprung forward. His usually quick feet made short work of the distance between them. The stave danced in his hands and it was all Willow could do to desperately block each slashing motion as she was forced backwards. The initial bout lasted mere seconds before Willow found herself up against the wall with nowhere to run.

"This has nothing to do with anger," Giles said as he levelled the stave at her neck. "Although I have to admit I've never seen you this angry in all the years I've known you, I would hazard a guess and say you're upset about Faith…but I would be wrong wouldn't I?"

Willow stepped forward back onto the pads as Giles lowered the stave away from her head and turned to move back to his starting position. "Yes…well no…I mean I'm concerned about Faith of course but I saw her just yesterday evening and she's going to be fine. As fine as only Faith can."

Willow padded across the floor to rejoin Giles and was ready for his second attack, blocking each movement successfully…if only because his strokes were considerably slower.

"You're angry at someone else?" Giles guessed even as he continued to swing. "Croft? Or Myles, has that little devil been neglecting his tasks? You're not angry at me I hope?"

The bout ended with Giles poking Willow in the stomach. She dropped her stave and doubled over instantly with her eyes bulging out.

"Not you Giles!" Willow gasped. "Edward Walsh…I'm angry because of Edward Walsh!"

Giles paused even as he was about to sweep Willow's feet out from beneath her. It was clearly his day to be surprised by the young redhead.

"Willow, where did you hear that name?" he asked quietly.

Managing to straighten up, Willow retrieved her stave and replied. "Just from that diary, I read a passage that mentioned him. I've never heard of him before but if he were indeed a real person, it seems that he was a thoroughly dislikeable individual. His actions incensed me and I'm not quite sure why, I guess the diary's just written so vividly."

"Thoroughly dislikeable would be one of the politer terms used to describe him," Giles muttered in acid tones, he then noticed the strange way that Willow was looking at him and managed a brief smile. "I'm not surprised you haven't heard the name, political history has never been one of your great interests."

"Political history?" Willow queried.

"Indeed," Giles raised his stave once more and waved at Willow to do the same. "He was an outspoken Member of Parliament for almost twenty years and I do believe I read that he vehemently opposed the establishment of this very fine institution which now employs the both of us. How was he described in the diary?"

Willow paused before replying, while she had no qualms about reading the diary herself she felt odd relaying the events as recorded by Tara. For some unfathomable reason she felt connected to the woman, even though she no doubt died many years earlier, and that for her to read Tara's words was almost natural. She didn't know why she should feel so guilty about sharing the information with Giles but it felt personal and very real to her.

"Err, I suppose I can see how he would come across badly," Willow completely skirted the issue and fired back a question of her own. "Giles, since you seem to be so learned when it comes to the life and times of Edward Walsh, can you tell me if he was married?"

It was Giles' turn to pause before replying but eventually he nodded. "I do believe he was…and fathered several children…but I cannot tell you the name of the woman."

"Her name wasn't Tara, Tara Maclay?" Willow asked quietly, her voice lingered over the syllables of the name.

Even as the words left Willow's lips she was suddenly assaulted by a wave of memories, she remembered saying the name over and over, almost as though it were the only name that had ever meant anything to her. She vividly remembered whispering the name in the heat of passion…even though she hadn't the slightest idea what the heat of passion actually felt like, and the small waves of pleasure at saying the name in greeting…as well as the pain of screaming the name in vain. All this passed in just a few seconds, the rush of emotions overwhelming Willow completely and driving her to her knees. She vaguely heard Giles saying her own name but it wasn't until the wave had passed that she could bring herself to look up at him and accept his offer of a hand to her feet.

"It may have been Tara," Giles said softly. "But I can't be sure."

"That's okay, Giles," Willow said a little too brightly. "It's not important and it certainly doesn't mean anything to me anyway…can you go another round or have I left you exhausted?"

"Worn me out?" Giles gasped in outrage. "Why you little upstart…prepare to be humiliated!"

Giles had no sooner raised his stave than the wind was knocked out of him as Willow's surprise blow caught him full across the chest, he was knocked backwards and she continued to drive him back with each new swing. If he were surprised, he managed not to show it and instead doubled his efforts. However, only Giles himself was aware of the fact that he was exerting almost every ounce of his not inconsiderable skill to block Willow's stave and try and gain the upper hand. He watched the look of concentration on Willow's face change from one of red-faced exertion to an intense, fierce competitive expression that was most unlike the person wearing it. He noted her almost flawless technique…no longer even bothering to conform to the rigid forms of the _kata_ but adopting a more fluid, natural style that was difficult to predict.

Giles only managed to gain the upper hand when Willow paused momentarily, as though she were realising that she had suddenly acquired a skill she never knew she possessed. Her look of concentration was replaced by one of confusion. Giles did not pause, he darted inside her guard and stabbed her once again in the stomach so hard she crashed backwards into the practice dummy and it toppled forward to land on her.

Willow lay on her back beneath the dummy groaning until she heard the sound of hearty laughter coming from the side of the room. She lifted her head and twisted her neck slightly to see Myles doubled over with mirth at her embarrassing situation. She scrambled to her feet, neither quickly nor gracefully with all the armour on and pointed her bamboo staves in the direction of the young man.

"You just come over here and start laughing, Myles!" Willow had a good attempt at a stabbing motion in his direction which only served to make Myles laugh even harder. "You shouldn't laugh at people that are carrying big sticks!"

"Ordinarily no," Myles was still grinning. "But you can when they can't run fast enough to catch you!"

With that parting comment Myles bolted from the room. Willow followed a split second later with a last grin over her shoulder in Giles' direction. Willow made a valiant attempt to catch him so as to deliver the thrashing she felt he deserved but after fifteen minutes of chasing him around the lower levels of the museum and bowling over Cordelia Chase, she was exhausted and had to admit defeat…and Cordelia was threatening to expose her less than grown up shenanigans to Croft.

Meanwhile in the practice room Giles removed his protective gear slowly, wincing as the blows that Willow had managed to land now made themselves known. Something moved in the shadows, emerging from the darkness between two practice dummies. Giles continued to remove the armour, completely unconcerned by the additional presence in the room.

"Things are moving fast," the presence commented quietly.

Giles turned to face the pale young woman standing next to him. "They are, Tara, but are they moving fast enough? I don't know if she'll be ready in time and she must. You know that as well as I do."

Tara inclined her head slightly as in agreement. She ran her eyes over the rows of practice equipment and then the mats on the floor where Willow had stood just a few moments earlier. There was a small smile on her face as though she were remembering what had just taken place in the training room.

"She'll be ready Giles, I'll see to that. You always worry more than is necessary." There was just the hint of humour in Tara's voice.

Giles turned away to stow away his gear neatly. "Can you blame me? I'm placing far more trust in you than I would like."

"Why can you still not bring yourself to trust me after all these years?" Any trace of humour had vanished from her voice, replaced by open annoyance.

Giles finished his tidying before deigning to reply to her, he still could not bring himself to look at her and his tone was firm, almost accusatory. "Because I know what you are and I know what you did…and nothing you have done since, or ever will do, can erase that."

"It is not your forgiveness I crave Giles…but rather hers."

When Giles could bring himself to look up once more, she was gone and he was alone in the room.

* * *

Willow shifted uncomfortably on the high backed leather chair in front of Croft's desk; she winced as it squeaked slightly. Croft stood on the other side of the desk, staring out the window for the time being, as though she were deep in thought and did not even realise Willow was there.

Being alone in the presence of Lara Croft was not exactly top on the list of Willow's favourite situations to be in. For a variety of reasons, reasons which she was sure had something to do with the potent sexuality issuing forth from every pore of Croft's being, Willow felt ill at ease and decidedly provincial in the company of her employer. Faith's presence had always made things somewhat easier. Although Willow was slowly coming to realise that this was due to the fact that whenever Faith was in the room Croft's attention was singularly focused to the point of almost ignoring everything else. As innocent and naive as she was, Willow knew there was more going on between Croft and Faith than a simple employer/employee relationship. It unnerved her somewhat; it would have been easier to accept if Croft were a man. As it was, Croft was most definitely a woman…as Faith was a woman. It had nothing to do with disgust and revulsion as it would with most people…but rather it had everything to do with insecurities on Willow's part. Their relationship unnerved her because it was what she wanted for herself…not with Croft of course, a chill ran down Willow's spine when that thought ran through her head. It was bad enough being in the presence of the woman fully clothed let alone naked. Willow grimaced as she felt the familiar sensation coursing through her cheeks and she knew that her face had turned an embarrassing shade of red.

As Croft turned slowly, finally dragging her attention away from the window and back within her office, Willow ducked her head, letting her hair fall forward over her face to disguise the redness in her cheeks. She could feel Croft's eyes on her but could not bring herself to look up.

"Faith's condition has improved markedly," Willow commented, still staring down into her lap. "The doctor was having a difficult time keeping her in bed. She was also rather annoyed that I did not see fit to bring her any cigars."

Croft chuckled softly as she took a seat. "Why does that not surprise me."

Willow managed to raise her head, she was surprised to find a slightly pained expression on Croft's beautiful features and she swallowed nervously. "She…expressed a desire to see you…just 'whenever you had a spare moment' were her exact words. I think perhaps she would like to deliver her report verbally."

Croft turned to face Willow directly, the pain replaced by the slightest twinkle in her eye. "Yes, sick bed or not, I do need her report…thank you, Rosenberg."

Willow nodded in acknowledgment. She was then surprised to hear a knock at the door behind her, turning she found a rather pale faced Myles standing just over the threshold.

"Ah, Cavendish, so good of you to join us," Croft beckoned him forward with a motion of her hand. "Come and take a seat next to Rosenberg here."

Myles almost raced across the floor to perch himself rather awkwardly on the seat beside Willow. Willow glanced across and gave the young man a smile of reassurance. Given the fact that she had to bear Croft's presence almost every day, she could imagine how uncomfortable the young man was. She knew for a fact that he would often hide in closets until Croft had passed by him…and she suspected that it was for a similar reason as her own fear. Willow hated to compare herself to a hot-blooded young male, but they were both faced with the same predicament when in Croft's presence.

"I'm sorry I was late Lady Croft, but Giles would not let me go until I had finished all my tasks. He did seem rather busy, preparing for another of Faith's trips from the looks of things-" Myles stopped abruptly as though he realised he were waffling.

Willow glanced across at Myles with a confused expression on her face and then back to Croft. "Why would Giles be preparing Faith's equipment? She can't possibly go anywhere in the condition that she is, you're not seriously considering sending her on assignment?"

"We have received a message from Faith's contact in Eastern Europe - a piece of information that we desperately need to have and someone must be sent to meet our contact in person-"

"That person can't be Faith, I won't allow it!" Willow insisted, no longer intimidated by Croft with her friend's health on the line.

"I agree - which is why I'm sending you," Croft said simply.

She looked on with an impassive face as Willow's expression morphed almost instantly. At first her features were frozen and then comprehension dawned. As her mind chewed over Croft's words and realised exactly what they meant for her, her jaw dropped and her eyes bulged. Her face stayed like this for several seconds before her jaw began to work as though she were trying to say something. The words would not come and Croft continued.

"It simply isn't prudent for us to wait until Faith has recovered, you of all people should understand the need for speed when it comes to vital information," Croft intoned in a serious voice. "We need you on this, Willow."

Willow's mouth continued to work ineffectively until she paused to pull herself together. She closed her eyes for a few moments. When she opened them she blurted out, "I've never left the country before and you're sending me to Eastern Europe?"

"That is correct." Lara nodded.

"But you can't…I mean, this is obviously important, crucial even to our work around Vlad Tepes and you're sending me?"

"That is precisely why we're sending you."

In the chair beside her, Willow heard Myles snigger behind his hand. She turned her head and glared at him through narrowed eyes. He very promptly wiped the smile from his face.

Croft watched the interchange and had a small smile of her own for Myles. "I wouldn't look so smug if I were you Cavendish…you're going too."

* * *

"Right…crossbow…complete with your standard barbed bolts, silver-tipped bolts and armour piercing bolts." Giles paused for a moment before selecting another quiver of bolts with their heads coated in an odd black surface,. "I better throw in some flammable headed bolts given all the Atramen that have been giving you grief lately."

Giles nodded as though satisfied with himself and packed the bolts and crossbow into the bag open in front of him. Willow made a face as Giles turned his back on her to rummage on the racks behind him. Meanwhile Myles was peering into the bag with an excited grin on his face. Giles slapped his hand away from the silver-tipped bolts when he turned around.

"Dagger," Giles commented as he placed a rather long and wicked looking weapon in the bag. "Longsword…"

He ran into an obvious problem when he went to fit the sword into the canvas bag, he paused with a frown on his face as though trying to work out how he could manage it.

"Ah, Giles," Willow was eyeing the weapon nervously as though it were going to leap out of the scabbard and run her through of its own accord. "Surely you must have something a little smaller?"

Giles glanced up at Willow's interruption of his packing process, his eyebrows raised as he considered her question. He glanced from Willow to the longsword and back and then made a thoughtful little sound as though accepting the fact that Willow would have great difficulty in lifting the weapon let alone swinging it at anything that was intent on harming her. With a reluctant sign, he replaced the sword on the rack behind him and selected a far shorter, lighter rapier-like blade that even Willow would have little trouble in wielding. He glanced up at Willow to seek her approval and she replied with a nonchalant shrug.

"I don't plan on using any of those weapons, Giles," Willow commented firmly. "Especially not while I have two good legs and I am quite capable of running."

Giles chuckled. "Where's the fun in that?"

"My point exactly!" Myles chirped in agreement.

Willow glanced from one to the other and gave an exasperated sigh. It was clear that she was fighting a loosing battle.

"You two finish packing all of this-" Willow waved her hand at the various accoutrements that Giles had littering the table in front of him "-stuff. I'm going home to pack the real essentials…books, writing implements and the like. I'll see you both tomorrow."

As Willow stumbled from Giles' workroom, the full realisation that she was being sent to Eastern Europe was only just beginning to hit her. As she stumbled down the corridor in the general direction of her office, she made a mental note to seriously consider self-incapacitation in order to avoid going.

_I'm sure Croft wouldn't send me if I was missing a thumb, _Willow mused as she glanced down at the offending appendage, although even as she began to wriggle it back and forth she decided that she quite enjoyed the use of her thumb and severing it was not the best course of action.

* * *

Still possessing both her thumbs, Willow arrived completely out of breath at the docks the next morning. She was both thankful and disappointed to see that the steamship had not left with out her. Myles was waving urgently from the railings and Giles was waiting near the gangplank with exasperation clearly written all over his face.

"I'm sorry…I slept in," Willow wheezed between gasps of air. She dumped her small travel bag at her feet but retained a tight hold on an elegant wooden writing case which contained her papers, writing implements and more importantly, the diary.

"Your subconscious really wanted you to miss the boat didn't it?" Giles thumped her lightly over the head with a sheaf of papers he held in his hand. "Here, these are essentials which you will not want to lose. I almost gave them to Myles, I couldn't quite decide who was the more trustworthy out of the two of you."

Willow accepted the papers and quickly leafed through them, most were standard documents of introduction and the like, a few looked like instructions from Croft and Giles and would require a closer inspection once she was on her way. As she was looking downwards Willow caught sight of the bag of weapons that Giles had packed the previous day and she kicked it with the toe of her boot. While completely unaccustomed to expeditions of any kind, and still clad in her usual worn suit, Willow had at least managed to find an old pair of hiking boots from her university days. Giles looked her up and down with a frown.

"You might want to purchase some new clothes en route. If I might suggest an excellent outfitting store I know in Paris."

"What's wrong with my attire?" Willow glanced down at her sensible suit.

Giles sighed once more. "I really have to run, and so do you…pick up your bags, and get on the boat, I've arranged for a guide to meet you in Paris. Do you think you can get that far on your own?"

Willow had picked up her travel bag and was awkwardly attempting to get a hand on the weapons bag as Giles spoke; she glanced up when Giles mentioned the word 'guide.'

"You're giving me a guide?" she asked hopefully. "Why didn't someone tell me that earlier, I was up all last night colour coding travel plans and maps…honestly, Giles."

Giles was already departing with a last smile and a wave over her shoulder even as Willow struggled with her belongings.

"Really!" she gasped. "He could have at least given me a hand!"

Behind her the ship's whistle pierced the crisp morning air with several short bursts; Willow glanced over her shoulder to see the sailors already beginning to hoist the gang plank. With a panicked yelp, Willow turned and ran, yelling at them to hold the plank. She barely made it, tossing her bags across to a sailor and having to leap over a good foot of water herself. Once safely on the plank and making her way up onto the deck she breathed a sign of relief. She crossed the deck to join Myles and was annoyed to find that the young man had managed to kit himself out quite respectably for their trip. He was wearing sturdy denim trousers tucked into high boots with a sweater and thick coat and topped by a rather ridiculous pith helmet that she suspected had been liberated from Giles' workroom.

"You do realise we're going to Eastern Europe, not Africa," Willow commented upon eyeing up the helmet.

Myles was unperturbed by this little detail and rapped his knuckles on it. "Still, looks pretty spiffing though doesn't it?"

Willow avoided replying, instead concentrating on a niggling little feeling at the back of her mind that usually meant she had forgotten something. While trying to remember what this was she turned her attention back to Giles' parting words.

"Did you know a guide is to join us in Paris?" she asked Myles.

"Yes," the young man replied cheerfully.

"Great…to make this trip even more unbearable I have to put up with a Frenchman!" Willow threw up her hands, still trying to remember what it was that she had forgotten.

"I don't think he's French, I think Giles said he was an American," Myles commented helpfully.

Willow groaned. "This could not get any worse!"

Even as the ship set out on the River Thames Willow found her stomach lurching in a manner which hinted at the possibility of some rather spectacular gastro expulsions once they were actually in the Channel. It was at this already unpleasant moment that Willow realised what it was she had forgotten. She lent forward and smacked her forehead on the iron deck rail.

"What's wrong?" Miles asked cheerily.

"I left all our weapons behind," Willow muttered, banging her head on the rail for a second time.

While she wasn't sure whether she ought to be miserable or ecstatic at leaving this key piece of their luggage lying on the dock, she did know that the boat was carrying them to continental Europe and all its associated sights and marvels…and dangers and monsters, and she was definitely sure that she didn't like that one little bit.


	9. A Two Franc Knee Trembler

**CHAPTER NINE  
A Two Franc Knee Trembler**

_5__th__ March 1788_

_My hands shakes for a reason other than excitement tonight…events have moved to the point where I now feel as if I am standing on the edge of a precipice and I know I shall fall. W surprised me at a soiree this evening by making no attempt to disguise her desire to speak with me alone. I thought perhaps after Edward's announcement that she would disavow all knowledge of our relationship. However, she made it very clear that this was not her desire for us. _

"_I want you to leave with me," W asked simply as we were alone in a secluded hallway of Hagley Park. "I cannot abide the thought of you wed to that foul toad Edward Walsh, you must leave with me."_

_I was struck dumb by the fierce intensity in her voice and I knew that these were no mere girlish dreams that she was giving voice to. W was serious in her intent…and I must admit that I was scared. _

"_Where would we go?" I asked in a strangled whisper. _

"_Paris…anywhere in Europe…even America!" W grasped both my hands in her own, squeezing them firmly and holding them to her breast. "Abraham will see us safely anywhere we wish to go…and you know there is the money for us to do this. He will deny us nothing. It is simple!"_

_My dear, dear W. She could not even begin to understand the ties that bound me to Edward Walsh and my intended fate. She could only understand love._

"_I can leave," I admitted. "But my family would be ruined - our lands lost to debtors, my parents and siblings destitute. Not all are fortunate enough to have the family fortune you have inherited from your parents. In marrying Edward I will save my family."_

_W's brow furrowed as though she were mulling over this information in her mind, her solution was all too simple. "Why not allow me to help? I'm sure Abraham would-"_

"_W, please desist with your follies!" I stamped my foot in exasperation. If only she would make it easy for me. "The only course of action is for me to marry Edward - anything else is unacceptable to society."_

"_I love you, Tara," W protested. "Surely that is all that matters?"_

_With those impassioned words she threw herself forward into my arms and pressed her lips to mine. That kiss served to remind me that we belonged together, W and I, the skin on my lips melded to hers, I closed my eyes and I was lost to her touch. At that point I began to entertain the thought that perhaps her folly would work, and we would be able to find a place where we could be together, away from my family and Edward. _

_My lips parted with a gasp as she thrust her tongue into my mouth, I accepted it hungrily, my hands cupping her face. She forced me back against the wall with one fierce shove as our kiss continued, growing in intensity. I felt her begin to tug at my skirts with one hand, lifting them over my knee and up my thigh until she reached the hem and her hand could find its way beneath. I parted my thighs eagerly; god knows I needed her regardless of the open hallway in which we stood. _

_It was as her fingers tugged at the laces on my underwear that our kiss broke as I felt her weight cruelly dragged away from my body. I opened my eyes in time to see W thrown back against the opposite wall of the hallway - a man stepped between us. It was Edward - his face alight with fury as he drew back his hand and slapped W across her face with all the force he could muster. She fell, sprawling on the ground at Edward's feet. I cried out, dashing to my W's side but Edward grabbed me by my hair and yanked me backwards. Tears were brimming in my eyes as I looked to W crumpled on the ground. I saw her stir; she rose into a crouching position before using the wall as an aid to stand. With her cheek already a violent red, she stood and faced Edward and I. With fire in her eyes she stepped towards us. Edward threw me to one side as Willow approached. _

_Even now I can still see W standing toe to toe with Edward, him towering over her small frame. She would not back down. Even when he threatened to give her the beating she deserved she did not flinch once. Edward was as immovable as a rock, I could see in his eyes the immense and overwhelming hatred he felt for W for the simple fact that, even though he may marry me, she will forever remain the one I love. I screamed as Edward raised his fist, rushing to restrain the hot-headed fool but he shoved me aside once more with a mere flick of his hand. I was thrown into the wall behind me and collapsed like a sack of flour with the wind knocked out of me. It was at that precise moment, just as Edward was about to bring his fist crashing down on W, that someone else rushed past me to restrain him. I saw a flash of red hair and a military uniform. Willow's brother was on Edward Walsh in a second, the dandy hardly having time to turn his head before the hardened captain drove his fist straight into Edward's nose. A shower of blood spewed forth, staining Edward's shirt and sending him flying away from W. Abraham pressed forward and seized the fallen man by the scruff of his bloodied shirt, hauling him upwards so the two of them were nose to nose. One trembling with fear, the other with barely controlled rage. _

"_If you ever lay a hand on my sister I will see to it personally that you never use either of your hands again. That should be simply enough put even for the likes of you!" the Captain growled. "I wish to god I could stop you from marrying Tara as well-"_

_It was at that point that Edward laughed, and it wasn't the laugh of someone even remotely amused…it was the laugh of insanity, the whites of his eyes were huge as he met Abraham's stare. _

"_But you can't can you, Captain?" his voice was high-pitched, close to a shriek. "Your abomination of a sister is going to spend the rest of her life knowing that I'm the one who gets to take my rights with my wife…and be most assured, I will take them!"_

_I could see the desire to do murder written plainly on Abraham's face and I desperately wanted him to go through with it, to drive his fist again and again into Edward's face until the bastard was nothing but an unrecognisable and bloodied corpse. Yet I knew that would only bring instant satisfaction and not the lasting life of peace with W that I craved. I knew at that point that there was nothing that I could do that would bring about the end I craved with all my being…although I could not guarantee W's happiness; at least I could guarantee her protection. If Abraham were labelled a murderer, she would be left completely alone. It almost killed me to do it but I threw myself over Edward even as Abraham was about to lose himself to the rage, pleading for the Captain to spare him, vile a man as he was. I will never forget the look of incomprehension on Abraham's face, or W's as I pleaded to spare the life of the man I most loathed in all the world. I watched on as Abraham backed away from us both and turned his back on me to face his sister. I only saw W's face for a moment but it was more than enough to reduce me to tears. The expression of disbelief and pain that was written there forced a terrible sob from my throat that might have been an attempt to say her name. Within seconds she was gone, bundled away from the scene by Abraham and I was left kneeling next to a bloodied, dazed Edward. _

_Although I am quite sure that I am now rendered less than whole with the loss of my W and my impending union with Edward, I cannot accept that my life is over. While I fear I will never again know love, I will know duty._

_While I fear I will never again know love, I will know duty._

* * *

Willow traced her fingertips gently over the long dried ink on the page of the diary from which she read, feeling the anguish that Tara must have felt through the physical contact with the paper. The last line for the entry was written with such fierce strokes that the words were intended into the page…and duty had been underlined thrice. She snapped the small volume shut and clutched it tightly against her chest. Feeling her eyes burn fiercely, Willow turned to stare out the window of the train and lost herself for a few moments in the tranquil French country side rolling by. As she felt one hot tear escape to slide down her cheek, she heard the door to the compartment side open. She discreetly dashed the tear away as she shoved the diary into the writing case at her feet.

"Reading?" Myles inquired a little too cheerfully. "I always find-"

He stopped abruptly when he noticed the tell-tale moisture on Willow's cheek, while Myles Cavendish had no great understanding of women, he did know enough to know when he was intruding on a private moment. He took his seat on the opposite side of the compartment and fell asleep rather quickly.

Willow glanced across as the young man started snoring in a forced manner and she managed a smile. She herself found sleep rather impossible, there were far too many thoughts racing through her mind for her to be calm enough for sleep. Instead she settled for the scenery.

Before long the low farmland gave way to the outer suburbs of Paris and eventually their stop. Myles jerked awake as the train ground to a halt and Willow was already gathering their luggage from the racks overhead.

"We're to meet our guide at five in the evening, at this hotel," Myles said as he and Willow stepped off the train and onto the bustling platform. "I've got the name of the hotel somewhere."

Willow turned and regarded him through narrow eyes. "Why is it that Giles trusted you with such an important piece of information?"

"Something about instilling a sense of responsibility," Myles shrugged. "Should we just go to the hotel and wait?"

"I guess," Willow mused glancing down at her attire. "Although I do think we should pay a little visit to a clothing store. Giles was right, I'm dressed for the library…not for the field."

Myles grinned. "This will be fun, I've never seen you wear anything other than those boring old suits of yours. It's high time you wore something a little more flattering."

Willow cuffed the young man over the back of his head. "How the hell would you know anything about fashion?"

"I know enough to know that what you're wearing-" Myles nodded in Willow's direction, "-is not fashion."

* * *

Giles had seen fit to include the card of the store he mentioned that morning in Myles' small collection of instructions and locations. While Willow had at first been hesitant to spend Museum funds on clothing, she had decided that it was a sensible course of action given their destination. So it was an hour later that Willow glanced down at herself and wondered if what she was now wearing was fashion. For some reason she decided that it definitely was not.

Willow stepped in front of the provided mirror and studied her reflection with a serious frown. She'd modelled her attire after Faith of course, being the only globe trotting adventurer that she knew, but for some reason she did not look like her dark-haired friend. Her feet were clad in high, sturdy brown leather boots of the type worn by military officers and serious explorers - laced up to just below her knee. Willow then examined the leather trousers; she shifted a little uncomfortably as they were tight even on her decidedly non-curvy frame. Flicking up the back of her leather coat she turned her back to the mirror and glanced over her shoulder at the way the pants hugged her bottom rather scandalously. She sighed, for the most part her jacket would be covering the offending area and they would be out of civilised company for much of the trip. Although, as Willow studied this particular view of her reflection for a moment longer, she had to admit that it was not an unpleasant sight the way the leather hugged her flanks. With red creeping into her cheeks, she glanced at the changing room door to check that no one had been observing her at that moment. She then faced the mirror front on once more, adjusting the collar of her shirt and lamenting the lack of a bow tie - she was savvy enough to realise that a tie would not compliment her outfit. To complete the outfit, she wore a green heavy cotton jacket beneath her thick leather coat which brushed the tops of her boots and was sure to keep most of the travelling dust at bay. With a deep breath, Willow stepped out of the changing room to Myles' enthusiastic approval. He saw fit to add a wide-brimmed leather hat as a last addition and Willow had to admit that it did serve to make her seem at least a little dashing.

When the two of them returned from their shopping expedition to the small, out of the way hotel in which they were spending the night, there was a man of around Willow's age seated in the lobby. Once glance at him and Willow could tell he was a little ill at ease in his surroundings. He was perched awkwardly on the very edge of the plush chair as though it would swallow him up if he sat on it in the normal fashion. His clothes were clean but well worn and definitely the attire of a man of action as opposed to one who spent his time behind a desk. Willow could see the way his shirt hugged his rather large biceps and the curved corners of his lips which meant he was prone to smiling often. She supposed that a lady of different inclinations would find him to be rather attractive and, given the way his grin was rapidly forming at the sight of her, the gentleman no doubt was fully aware of this. He practically leapt out of the chair as though grateful to be able to stand and took a few quick strides towards Willow and Myles. Despite Myles' admiring stare, he only seemed to have eyes for Willow.

"Hey there little lady, I'm Alexander Harris - Alex to all the ladies. I believe I will be your guide for your journey into the dark and dangerous depths of Eastern Europe." Alex placed his worn and weathered hat on his head and tipped it jauntily.

Willow eyed him suspiciously before replying in a rather rude tone, "I trust that you'll have the good sense to avoid the dark and dangerous bits and just take us where were need to go."

Alex's smile slowly morphed into a confused frown, and he paused to scratch his head for at least a minute before replying. It was as though her were trying to figure out whether the 'little lady' was pulling his leg or being completely serious.

"But Ma'am, it's the dark and dangerous bits that I'm being paid to take you to…" He paused to look her up and down, eyes roaming over her entire get up - from her un-scuffed leather boots to the smart jacket and hat, none of which had never known rain or dust. "Say, just how much experience do you have in the field?"

"None," Willow replied promptly. She was quite proud to admit that she had never sullied herself with such things. "I'm a researcher."

Alex was staring at Willow in an expression of outright shock when Myles slipped between them and held out his hand with an enthused expression on his face. Still struck mute, Alex took the younger man's hand in his own.

"Myles Cavendish at your service, Mr Harris!" Myles pumped Alex's hand rather firmly in his enthusiasm.

With his gaze going back and forth between Willow and Myles (especially staring at the young man's pith helmet), Alex could barely contain himself. His expression took on a rather worried turn when he realised that he would be escorting the two greenest expedition greenhorns in continental Europe. He tipped his hat again before backing away from them both slowly.

"Um, I'd best be turning in for the night. I'll meet you both on the train tomorrow morning, right?" he turned, not waiting for an answer and walked away muttering something about having to find a new line of work.

Willow and Myles watched Alex take the stairs two at a time, soon disappearing from sight. Willow turned to Myles and shrugged. "I guess we should try and get some sleep as well. I think it might be a long day tomorrow."

* * *

While Willow managed to make it into bed with the covers tucked securely beneath her chin at a respectable hour, she could not bring on sleep. She kept telling herself that she was exhausted after their boat and train journey during which she had not slept a wink, indeed she had spent most of the boat journey hanging over the railings emptying the contents of her stomach.

After an hour of fruitless tossing and turning, Willow finally re-dressed herself and made her way back downstairs. The hotel lobby was mostly deserted, with just the front desk clerk looking extremely bored and impatient for his shift to be over, and two gentlemen talking over brandy and cigars near the bar. Not being particularly keen on the idea of drinking or smoking herself to sleep, Willow made towards the front door with the intention of popping out for a brisk walk in a well lit area. She was drawn up short of the door when she saw a figure standing at a nearby window, elbows propped up on the windowsill as he gazed longingly outdoors. It was Myles, clad in his bulky overcoat as though he were heading outside.

"Myles?" Willow asked, effectively announcing her presence lest she startle the young man. "It's rather late, are you not tired?"

He spun away from the window with a slightly sheepish grin. "I really want to see Paris, even just a little…but being so late and all I was afraid to go out on my own and I did not know if you would approve."

"Well, given that I was about to head out on my own I can hardly be one to protest. How about we take a stroll together?" Willow offered, not entirely sure that company was what she sought but feeling sorry for the young man who so desperately wanted to get out on the town.

"Are you sure?" Myles leapt up from his leaning position with a broad smile. "Thanks awfully, Miss Rosenberg."

"Call me Willow please, Myles," Willow urged as they made their way out into the night air, Myles holding the door open for her. "You make me feel like a school teacher calling me 'Miss Rosenberg' all the time."

"Sure…Willow," Myles beamed, striking up a rather jaunty strut as he set out on the footpath.

Willow followed suit. She was pleased to find the streets around the hotel well lit with electric lighting, much the same as in London. People were still strolling about although most were hurrying home. To all outward appearances, Willow and Myles appeared to be two young Englishmen taking in their first sights of the city. This was very much the truth excepting of course that Willow was a woman. They were able to wander quite freely and at the brisk pace both had set they covered a great deal of ground. Myles was quite sure he was leading them in the direction of the Seine and Notre Dame but as they continued on doubts began to form in Willow's mind about Myles' sense of direction.

The two travellers found themselves in an area with fewer streetlamps and ominously dark alleyways that they both scurried past rather quickly. Someone whistled in a low tone and both Willow and Myles spun to see two women emerge from a nearby doorway.

"Here's a handsome pair of young men, looking for a good time I'll bet?" the nearest asked in French. She was clad in a particularly violent shade of yellow that did not compliment her pale, blotchy skin.

"Is that right, you boys looking for a good time?" her companion asked. She was almost pretty although wearing so much rouge on her cheeks it gave her the appearance of a doll.

Her red dress was cut so low that Willow glanced down and saw the dark areola surrounding her nipple, Willow felt heat rise in her cheeks. It was definitely the closest she had ever come to seeing breasts other than her own or in a dream. All she felt was a cold terror.

"No…I mean yes we're having a good time…but we're fine thanks," Willow stuttered – although she spoke French, it emerged stilted. She was canvassing the best route of escape, unfortunately there was a dead end in front of them and the prostitutes moved to block their path.

The two approached, practically backing the unfortunate pair against a wall behind them. Willow cringed with her back pressed against the wall in effort to escape the red-frocked prostitute who was several times taller and heavier than her and drenched in a scent that Willow was quick to discover made her sneeze. Meanwhile her companion in the yellow dress was stroking Myles' pink cheek, the young man staring rather raptly down at her bosom which was peering from the top of her dress.

Willow sneezed again as the prostitute placed one hand on the wall beside her, moving so close their bodies were almost touching,

"Sacre bleu! My but you are a pretty boy!" she exclaimed, pinching Willow's cheek. "For you I will make a special offer, two francs for a knee trembler but for ten francs I will take you back to my room for a whole hour of love making. It is a good offer, non?"

"Ah, it's a very good offer…but I'm honestly not interested!" Willow squeaked, her back sliding along the wall as she inched further away.

"Oh, I bet you are," she breathed.

Willow almost squealed aloud as the frisky prostitute made to reach for her crouch, in lieu of having a broom or some such object to fend off the unwanted attentions of the lady of the night, Willow had to make do with her own nimble feet. She darted out from beneath the woman's outstretched arm and seized Myles by his sleeve.

"Ah, Myles, now would be one of those times that we should run!"

Still dragging the young man (who seemed to be digging his heels in for some reason), Willow tore out of the dead-end street and kept running as fast as she possibly could. She received an awful shock when she glanced back over her shoulder to see that the two prostitutes were not about to give up potential clients that easily. They had hitched up their skirts and were running after the pair, white legs flashing in the night. Willow increased the pace, as well as ducking down a side street that appeared to offer more potential for hiding places.

"I've got twenty francs in my pocket!" Myles called out to her as they ran. "Isn't this what you're supposed to do when you're in Paris?"

Willow glanced across at the hopeful expression on his face with a furious one of her own. "If you're a sailor…which you are not! Not to mention that's museum money in your pocket!"

Myles shrugged; obviously he had the feeling that it was a valid travelling expense. Willow groaned in exasperation and glanced over her shoulder once more. They were still there. She rounded another corner up ahead, not caring where she was leading them and ducked down a rather darkened alleyway. Halfway down she dragged Myles into a doorway and the two of them pressed their backs against the door, melding into the shadows as much as possible.

Willow soon heard the heeled shoes of the prostitutes on the cobbles and she feared they would somehow hear her hoarse breathing. She tried to slow it down somewhat but exertion combined with anxiety meant that this was almost impossible. A few seconds later it became apparent that the prostitutes were going to run straight past them without pausing to check the alley. Willow exhaled loudly and beside her Myles sighed. She reached over and patted him on the shoulder.

"You're a good-looking lad, Myles. I'm sure you'll meet a young lady worthy of your attentions," Willow reassured him.

She saw Myles face turn towards her in the dim light. "Are you sure about that? I think I'm a bit skinny for the ladies."

"Skinny or not, I have no doubt you'll be successful in love," Willow added, although she did think perhaps she had gone a little tone far in her reassurance when she saw the beaming grin on Myles' face.

They waited for at least a minute to emerge from their hiding place, just to be sure that the two prostitutes had gone. Willow and Myles found themselves quite alone in the alley, breathing a collective sigh of relief. Such sighs were short-lived however as two figures moved to block the entrance to the alley. Both men were wearing ragged, bulky clothing with hats low over their brows. Even in the darkness Willow could see the gleam of the knives they wielded. She reached out and dragged Myles behind her even as they approached confidently.

"Now we'll be having all your property there lads, money, watches…" the nearest growled, running his thumb along the length of his blade.

"We don't have anything!" Willow replied, wondering whether she could risk backing away slowly, she shifted her body slight and in doing so her jacket feel open, revealing her shirt beneath which hugged the curves of her breasts.

The second man stepped forward quickly and grabbed his partner's arm with his excitement. "It's a woman!"

They both leered at Willow, wide smiles spreading to reveal mouths full of missing teeth from a lifetime of drunken brawling.

"It's our lucky night…looks like a sweet one too, beneath the men's clothing."

Willow kept a firm gaze on both of them, she was watching for any sudden movement towards her when Myles shoved her aside from behind.

"Don't you dare lay a hand on her!"

Myles was between them in an instant, drawing out from beneath his coat a narrow sword which he proceeded to pull from its sheath a little awkwardly. In his haste and terror he fumbled and dropped the blade, it clattered to the cobbles below. Willow stared at it for a moment and then realised that the nearest cutthroat was about to make a move towards it. She dived forward and seized it by the handle.

"Back you devils!" Willow cried, brandishing the sword in the direction of the pair of cutthroats.

Both men were taken aback by the sudden appearance of the gleaming sword in Willow's hand, sudden expressions of hesitation appearing on their faces, especially given the competent manner in which the sword was directed towards them. Willow stood poised, both hands on the grip of the katana as it was raised above her head, ready to strike at either of the men if they approached. She felt an urgent tug on her jacket.

"Ah Willow, it's good that we have the sword and all but I think we should still run!" Myles insisted.

Willow found herself hesitating for a moment at Myles' sensible suggestion, for the briefest of moments she felt as though she could take on both men and win easily, even with the knives in their hands.

The feeling was gone as quickly and she nodded urgently at Myles. "Yes!"

Despite having already exerted themselves to their fullest extent in fleeing the prostitutes, both Willow and Myles managed to set a cracking pace with their lives on the line rather than just merely their virginity.

When Willow glanced over her shoulder as they emerged back into a street lined with lamps, she was surprised to see no pursuers behind them. She did not stop to dwell on the reason for this and kept running, the sword still clutched in her hand.

In their frantic flight, Willow and Myles did not slow down in the slightest until they were sprinting up the steps of their hotel. Both were clearly exhausted and out of breath but relieved to be alive after the encounter with Paris' seedy underbelly of crime…however brief it may have been.

"Myles, where in God's name did you get this sword?" Willow eyed the katana in her hand as they re-entered the safe confines of their hotel. "I thought I left all our weapons behind on the dock?"

"Nicked it from Faith's stash and hid it in my luggage," Myles admitted shamelessly.

"Myles!" Willow gasped in horror.

Myles remained unapologetic. "Come on, she's got dozens."

Willow then shrugged as though Myles made good sense, "I'll keep a hold of this…and I would suggest that we don't mention a word of this little incident to our American guide. I suspect it would further erode our already tarnished image."

"Agreed," Myles nodded quickly, relinquishing his hold on the finely worked sheath of the katana into Willow's waiting hand.

They both made a beeline for their respective hotel rooms, neither would think about emerging until the day had well and truly dawned. As Willow settled down to sleep that night she could not help but feel apprehensive. With the journey barely underway she had already narrowly escaped death. She was in for a very long haul indeed.

* * *

The thugs in the alley were still trying to work out exactly what had just taken place; they were having difficulty in accepting the fact that they had just been thwarted in their work by a woman and a boy. Even as their prey disappeared out of sight they made up their minds to follow, surely their brute strength would make up for the initial surprise of the woman brandishing a sword in their direction.

They had no sooner picked themselves up than both felt a strong grip on the back of their clothing. One was thrown backwards with tremendous force and he hit the wall face first with a sickening thud. He fell into a heap at the base of the wall and did not move. The remaining man found himself being held at least a foot in the air, his feet kicking uselessly beneath him. He too was thrown back against a wall but the figure holding him was on him faster than the wind, he tried to scream but no sound emerged. With iron like fingers clamped fiercely around his jaw he was forced to stare straight at the creature that held him. Her face was terribly beautiful, piercing blue eyes boring through into his soul as her blonde hair fanned out behind her even though there was no wind. She bared her teeth, revealing abnormally pointed incisors that drove a knife of fear straight into his heart.

"Did William or Angelus put you up to this?" she growled, keeping her fangs visible. "Tell me now or you will know true pain!"

He tried to shake his head but her grip was too firm for him to move his head, "No, no, I do not know who those people are!"

The creature lifted him forward a few inches and then slammed him backwards, the back of his head cracked against the brick wall and he cried out in pain.

"No one put us up to anything, it was just us! They looked like easy meat! Posh clothes…obviously lost…easy pickings!" he gasped as he struggled futilely, his face growing redder by the second.

"You're thieves," she whispered.

"Yes, yes, just a thief!" he agreed, striving to appease her.

"You're scum," she added. "You attacked someone dear to me…and for that I do not feel sorry for your death."

"My death?" he squealed. "No!"

His protest morphed into a scream. Just moments later the fangs which had held him so transfixed in his terror buried themselves in the white flesh of his neck. Minutes later his lifeless corpse was thrown to the ground and the dark-clad woman stepped over him as though he were a pile of trash, wiping the blood from her chin.

* * *

The next morning Alex appeared to have set aside his apprehensions regarding his two abysmally inexperienced companions and he was in fine spirits as they boarded the train for the next leg of their journey. The leg would of course be much longer than the first short jaunt to Paris and they had reserved a large carriage complete with foldout sleeping berths. Willow wrinkled her nose, less than impressed as she stowed her luggage away. She struggled on tiptoes to stow her bag overhead and was about to have it come crashing back down on her head when a large arm shot up and shoved the bag firmly in place.

"I promise I don't snore," Alex lent over and whispered in her ear as he tightened the luggage straps.

Willow whirled around, surprised by being in such close proximity with a man…and a decidedly odd smelling one at that. She mumbled her thanks and claimed one of the spots by the window, thankfully Myles quickly claimed the other window seat directly opposite her so should would not be forced to stare at Alex for at least a while anyway. Myles beamed when Alex chose to sit next to him, puffing out his chest and trying to look as manly as possible rather than the skinny little boy he really was.

As Alex opened the day's paper and Myles fished into a bag of sweets he had purchased at the station, Willow turned her attention to the platform outside the window. It was clearing now, most of the passengers having boarded the train already. There were just a few well-wishers awaiting the imminent departure. Scanning the crowd, Willow passed her eyes over porters lugging bags or pushing carts and the conductor ushering latecomers on board. She saw working class men wearing their distinctive caps, hands jammed in the pockets of their overalls, middle class ladies perhaps saying goodbye to their husbands or fiancés and somewhat apart from the rest of the crowd, one exceedingly familiar blonde haired woman in dark attire. She was staring directly at Willow, meeting her gaze quite calmly as though it were natural for her to be there. No one else on the platform seemed to notice the woman. They all gave the location where she stood a wide berth. Willow's lips parted in surprise, she wanted to call out or even get off the train but she heard the conductor calling out his last call. Moments later they were trundling along the track, barely moving at first and Willow continued to stare. Then the train gathered speed and she passed out of sight.

"Willow?"

Willow turned to look down at Myles who was staring at up her with a disconcerted expression on his face. She realised that she had subconsciously risen to her feet while staring at the blonde woman and quickly sat down once again.

Willow shrugged in what she hoped was an offhand manner. "I thought I saw someone I knew…that's all."

Myles nodded as though this explanation satisfied him, he offered Willow a sweet but she declined, it was much too early in the morning for her to inject sugar into her body. She instead settled back against the seat and realised that it was actually quite comfortable. With the lulling movement of the train combined with her lack of sleep, Willow quickly drifted off to sleep, her dreams once again filled with the tortured love story of Tara Maclay and her W.


	10. The Quality of Myles Cavendish

**CHAPTER TEN  
The Quality of Myles Cavendish**

_15__th__ September 1778_

_To say that today was one of the most difficult and awful days of my life is the cruellest irony one could possibly devise. There are no words to express the despair I feel at this moment…and have felt for each of the months that have passed since I last saw W. _

_As of this morning I am Mrs Edward Walsh. The wedding ceremony was the most cheerless event I have ever witnessed in my life…and that includes every funeral I have ever attended._

_For all intensive purposes it was a funeral. My own. _

_I do feel as though I witnessed it, I was never a participant. Instead I stood apart as though I watched another woman who looked very much like me wed Edward. As a witness I cried…I cried for the bride who dared not shed a tear herself. _

_As I write this, my last entry in the diary, I'm shivering in my nightgown in a room that is supposed to be my own. It will never be my own. It belongs to my husband, everything belongs to Edward…including my body. The only small measure of consolation I have is while I may belong to him in name, I will never truly belong to him. In my mind I belong to W and no matter what he does to me; I will never let him take that away from me. My memories of my beautiful redhead are mine and mine alone, especially the tender moments we shared. I will always remember the feel of her naked body pressed against my own, both straining in the act of making love and more simply just lying, belonging next to each other like the pages of a book…put those two pages anywhere else, and they will be out of order, meaningless._

_Tomorrow Edward and I leave for Austria on our honeymoon with a grand tour of cities along the way. Although I can think of nothing worse than travelling with him, I do so long to see the continent. Perhaps there may even be enough sights and marvels for me to lose myself and forget that I am not sharing them with the person I love. I wish to God I could stop feeling so wretched for myself, my situation is almost entirely self-created and I do not deserve the pity, there has been too much of that already in the pages I have written. If anyone deserves pity it is dear, brave W who was willing to risk all for us to be together. Nay, not pity…for she would not wish to be pitied and certainly not by me. As soon as I finish this entry I will bind this diary securely and dispatch it to her at first light. I cannot safely keep it and nor can I bring myself to destroy it. In its pages I have been honest to a fault and I can only hope that she will accept it as a token reminder of what she and I shared. A token reminder only for I believe that she would feel the same way I do, these are just words and the real reminders are etched onto our skin, into every pore of our bodies…a reminder that we should have belonged together forever. I have committed murder in tearing apart two souls who were destined to be together. It is in this respect that I am dead. _

_I can her footsteps approaching. I know Edward is here. I do not pray often but I will pray tonight for Him to give me the strength to endure what must be endured._

* * *

Willow's heart felt leaden as she finished Tara Maclay's last entry in the diary. It was not only the words that sent Willow spiralling downwards into an abject state of melancholia, it was also something else. It was an emotion that she could not quite define that plucked at her heart strings with all the grace of a violist playing with his toes. She turned the page of the diary to find that although the September 15th entry was Tara's last, she had gone on to write something else. It was just a single word…but that one word filled an entire page.

_Willow._

Willow gently touched the pads of her fingers to the paper as though she could feel the emotion with which the name was written over and over. Throughout the diary Tara had only ever written 'W', despite the fact that it would have done little to conceal the identity of her beloved. While Willow did not understand why she had resorted to such poorly concealed subterfuge, she did understand the sudden need for the repetition - especially considering what was about to happen to her at the hands of her husband.

Gripped by a sudden anger, Willow fiercely turned the page even though she knew she would find no answers there. There was text there in abundance. It was all written in the heavy, almost perfect script that Willow had also found in the inside cover. However she could decipher not a word. It was a form of torture. Willow knew that the answers she sought, the rest of Tara's story, lay hidden within the text. She scanned the first few pages in the vain hope that some sort of pattern would emerge, one that would give her clues to deciphering it, but she possessed neither the patience nor the clarity of mind required for such a task. Instead she leapt from the bed in a state of agitation. Her footfalls sounded hard and fast on the floorboards as she paced the short width of her hotel room. Before she could give herself over to anger and tear the diary in two, Willow threw it to the floor where it landed with a thud and skidded beneath the bed.

Turning her back on the book Willow dashed a measure of water from the porcelain pitcher into the wash basin and hunched over it, staring into her own blurred reflection. A single tear slid over her nose, hung on the end of it for a second and dropped into the water with a tiny splash. A second tear followed in due course and before Willow knew quite what had overcome her she was weeping uncontrollably. Sobs racked her small frame and she found herself having to kneel down before she fell over on her weak knees. Willow crumpled into a small ball and tucked herself up in the tiny space between the heavy wooden dresser and the wall. She was so consumed with grief and pain, she didn't care that her body quickly became chilled pressed up against the bare boards. All she could dwell on was the overwhelming sense of loss she felt, as though something or someone very precious had been stolen from her.

* * *

Faith cried out, flinging her hands out behind her to firmly grasp the headboard of the bed upon which her naked body was currently writhing in agonising ecstasy. She thrust her hips repeatedly and insistently against the warm mouth that was fastened over her sex, straining for more pressure.

Lara responded by increasing the pace with which she flicked her tongue over Faith's clit. She sensed that the lithe woman bucking against her lips was nearing her release. Her movements became more intense, her breath sounded hoarse and increasingly loud moans issued from her throat. Without interrupting the work of her tongue, Lara shifted slightly so she could force one finger upwards, burying it in the warmth of Faith's cunt.

Faith slapped her hand against the headboard as she felt the penetration, thrusting against Lara's hand as well as her mouth.

"For the love of god!" Faith gasped. "Are you trying to make me pull my stitches apart?"

Lara moved her mouth for a brief moment even as she kept thrusting with her finger. "You want me to stop?"

"Oh god, don't stop now!" was Faith's immediate reply.

Lara resumed her ministrations with her tongue, trying her best to keep her movements gentle but Faith's responses clearly showed that she was beyond feeling pain from her wound and concentrating solely on the pleasure.

Faith came a few moments later amidst a guttural howl of undecipherable words. Lara kept moving between Faith's trembling thighs, continuing to stroke her pulsing cunt with her tongue even as a command came for her to stop. She savoured a last taste before pulling back to admire the sight of her lover spread wide in front of her, glistening moisture coating the inside of her thighs and her sex. Lara licked her lips like a cat before crawling up Faith's body, warming her before the coat of sweat that covered her body could start cooling. She absently traced a small pattern between Faith's breasts as their bodies folded together, gradually moving her fingers downwards over the scars that dotted Faith's otherwise perfect skin, she stopped when she came to the thick bandage that concealed the still unhealed wound in her side.

"I'm sure this is not what the doctor would prescribe," Faith commented as she felt Lara's fingers brush over her skin.

"Was the activity a little too boisterous for you?" Lara teased in reply.

"Perhaps," Faith shifted slightly and felt the wound protest. "But what is a little pain compared to the pleasure of having your mouth between my legs. That and the fact that I was positively aching for your touch - or any touch for that matter. One should not go more than two weeks without fulfilling one's needs."

"Any touch?" Lara repeated archly. "I should hardly think that just any touch would suffice."

Faith smirked. "Yours is indeed pleasurable…and I cannot think of a more adequate way to pass the time."

"Well, we have all evening…" Lara began.

"About that, I was going to pay Willow a visit. It's quite odd actually, she hasn't been to see me and I stopped by her office today but she wasn't in. I could not find Giles and no one else seemed to know where she was. If she were ill she would have to be very sick indeed to keep her away from work."

"Yes…about Willow," Lara began, her voice betraying an element of discomfort.

"You know where she is?" Faith twisted her neck so she could look at Lara. "I would never admit as much to her, but I miss her annoying me."

"I'm not expecting her back from Klausenburg for at least another three weeks," Lara replied simply, she cocked her head to one side as though she were mulling over dates in her head. "Perhaps a month if the information turns out to be of worthwhile interest. She can follow it up while she's there."

Faith immediately extracted herself from within Lara's warm embrace, trying to ignore the stabbing pain shooting through her torso as she moved too fast for her wound. She could hardly hide the grimace on her face. Lara predictably rose from her own reclining position to go to her lover's aid. Faith halted her movement with a raised hand blocking her path. Lara remained sitting on the bed while Faith swung her feet onto the floor and stood, her naked body glowing in the candlelight. She turned to face Lara without bothering to put any clothes on.

"I am to understand that you sent Willow to Eastern Europe…alone?" Faith demanded, clutching at the dressing covering the wound in her side.

Lara shook her head, finding it difficult to deny that a naked, angry Faith was a beautiful sight. "No, she's with Cavendish and I engaged Alexander Harris to be their guide."

Faith let out a flabbergasted snort. "Myles is about as much use as a wooden sword. What is he there to do? Make cups of tea?"

"Cavendish is loyal to a fault. I believe we're all underestimating him…and he needs the field time as much as Rosenberg," Lara admitted with a shrug, she went on to add. "That debate aside, I'm sure you'll agree that Harris was the most appropriate guide, you yourself have used him on more than one occasion and pronounced him to be adequate. I figured that was high praise coming from you."

"It was high praise!" Faith agreed in exasperation. "He's a fine shot and a quick with his fists. There's no one I would rather have guarding my back in a tight situation than Alex Harris…but that's the thing, I don't want Willow in the type of situation where she would need a fine shot and quick fists!"

Faith forgot the pain in her side; instead she was consumed by anger and feat at the thought of her best friend in a completely unknown environment, much too far out of her element. She knew exactly what Willow was headed for and the thought unsettled her. While Klausenburg was hardly a dark and dangerous backwater, one still had to remain alert at every moment; the dark forces that they worked to combat had an uncanny ability to sense out employees of the British Museum and make life as uncomfortable for them as they possibly could. Too many times Faith had run into sticky situations, even in relatively secure environments and had been forced to use all of her experience and skill to escape. The thought of Willow having to do the same would have been laughable if not for the fact that it wasn't a joke, Willow was actually traipsing around Eastern Europe with her youthful assistant and Alexander Harris...when that thought ticked over in her head Faith groaned aloud.

"And Harris is a walking cock! He would fuck anything with two breasts and a cunt," Faith could testify to having seen him in action and she was willing to bet that the 'two breasts' criteria could be waived on occasion. "He stays professional with me because he knows I'd slice his balls off without a second thought…but is he really the type of man to whom you would entrust the care of someone like Willow? Someone who has absolutely no experience in fending off unwanted male attentions?"

Lara gave a dismissive shrug. "You never know, she might want such attentions."

Faith took that last comment as a cue to find her clothes, she was pulling on her leather pants as she continued the conversation, trying to steer it away from the direction it was taking. "She could not do with the attentions of Alex Harris thank you very much!" The thought of that hopeless scoundrel trying to seduce Willow made Faith's blood boil.

"This banter is pointless, Rosenberg is an employee!" Lara threw up her hands in annoyance as Faith dragged on a shirt over her bare breasts. "I care about the job - not her personal life!"

"Bollocks, Lara!" Faith growled immediately, trying to find her missing leather boot beneath the bed, she dragged it out and popped her head back up to glare at her lover. "I distinctly remembering you telling me a month ago to keep a special eye on Willow…and now you're sending her off to chase a lead that I should be following up with just her assistant and a womanising American?"

Lara now had the grace to look somewhat guilty, although it was still not enough for Faith. She turned her back on the naked woman lying in her bed as she hopped around the room tugging her boots on, various curses coming from her lips as her wound smarted with each movement.

"Things…things weren't moving fast enough," Lara admitted quietly, her tone however indicated that was all she would admit.

Faith whirled on her. "What things? You're not going to tell me are you? I'm good enough to do what I'm told and share you bed when you feel like it but for some reason I can't be let in on your little plan. A plan which involves the safety of someone I care about deeply!"

"Maybe you should be fucking Willow," Lara said on impulse, immediately regretting the words as soon as they had left her lips.

"Enough!" Faith announced with finality, seizing her jacket from where she had tossed it earlier over the back of a chair. "I'm owed at least three months holiday. I'll be back when I bloody well feel like it."

Lara started to rise, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed. "Faith, I'm sorry, I should come with you-"

"Even if you weren't crippled I wouldn't want you to come with me," Faith interrupted cruelly. "You can stay behind the desk where you belong."

Faith did not stay in the room long enough to see the crestfallen expression on Lara Croft's face. Faith's words had cut deep; hitting a vital artery but what hurt more was the fact that her lover's anger was futile because she did not have the complete picture. It had been essential to send Willow to Eastern Europe in a desperate attempt to unlock the secret of her past and in turn the information contained within her memories. Of course if Faith had not been so badly injured she would have dispatched them together but could not afford to wait for her to recover from her injuries. Lara also knew Faith's reaction to finding out Willow's destination, which was precisely why she had told Willow that she was not to bid Faith farewell before she left. Faith would have followed Willow no matter her condition…as she was set to do now.

In carrying out her duty, Lara had alienated a woman she had come to care for, perhaps even love…but they were all running out of time. Love was not important in the face of the horrors that could be unleashed if Willow failed.

* * *

Fierce hunger pains eventually drove Willow from her hotel room late the same evening but she did not leave her room before thoroughly scrubbing the tearstains from her face. She made her way downstairs towards the hotel bar where she had seen meals being served on her way up earlier that afternoon, huge hearty meals of bread and meat which Willow thought would suit her fine. However, she had no sooner entered the dimly lit room with its low ceiling than a broad shouldered man moved to block her path. Upon glancing upwards she found it to be Alex Harris, a cocky grin on his face as he tipped his cowboy hat.

"Well howdy, little Miss. How about you let me buy you a drink and I'll tell you about the time I single-handedly stopped a stampeding herd of buffalo from crushing a wagon train full of womenfolk and little 'uns."

Willow smiled politely and shrugged. "That sounds fascinating but I am actually famished."

"I love a lady that knows how to eat!" Alex announced, slapping Willow on the back with more familiarity than she was comfortable with. "How's about we pull up a stool at the bar and have them bring us something with some meat?"

He left his hand resting against her back and chuckled as though he were enjoying a private joke of his own. Willow was rather helpless to resist as Alex steered a path through the small crowd to two available seats at the bar. His hand left her back as he climbed on a stool and Willow took the opportunity to discreetly shift her own stool a few paces away from his.

"What are you drinking?" Alex slapped some coins down on the bar and the bearded old fellow behind the bar couldn't move to take their order fast enough. "I'm buying."

"I can buy my own drinks, Mr Harris," Willow began uncomfortably. "I do not think it appropriate-"

"Nonsense! My man, we will have both have doubles of your finest vodka, followed by a pitcher of beer apiece!"

Willow stared at the alcohol in the rather dirty vessels that were dumped unceremoniously in front of her a minute or so later. Alex downed his vodka in one quick gulp and chased it with a great swill of beer. With alcohol lining his stomach, he quite happily launched into his tale about the wagon load of women folk as he had promised. Willow sighed tried to block out most of his blustering speech by simply ignoring him. Naturally, her mind drifted back to her reaction to the diary, even now she found her fists clenching at just the thought of Tara Maclay having to marry that awful man. It was awful…or rather it had been awful. Willow couldn't understand why she had been overwhelmed by sadness to the point of collapsing into tears. She didn't usually cry over anything - well, at least not since her brother had passed away. She listened to Alex Harris talking in his animated voice and wondered what kind of man her brother would have grown up to be.

After staring at the glass in front of her for a few minutes, Willow finally ventured a small sip. Alex noticed her dainty movements and grimace of disgust and shook his head.

"You've got to down it in one, not sip at it like some lily-livered chicken!"

To shut him up, Willow tossed her head back and immediately felt the horrible burning sensation of the liquid as it passed down her throat. She slammed the glass back on the bar and Alex slapped her heartily on the back one again, driving her forward with the impact.

"That's the way! Barman…the same again!"

Less than half an hour later, Willow had not had the meal she had originally been craving, yet she had had more than enough liquor to fill her belly. Willow was also relieved to find that she didn't feel quite so sad any longer. Also, her hunger pains had subsided to be replaced by a rather pleasant glow and she sat smiling stupidly in response to Alex's increasingly far-fetched stories, usually involving rescuing good-looking womenfolk from some calamity that was about to befall them.

One of the side effects of the large quantity of alcohol was a rather full bladder. She was in sore need of a chamber pot or an outhouse when she slipped from her stool. She found the floor a little unsteady beneath her feet and decided that the whole thing was uneven, definitely a poor standard of workmanship. A shaky step followed and she lurched rather alarmingly.

"Woah there, Miss Rosenberg!" Alex moved quickly from his stool and reached out with two hands to prevent Willow from stumbling forward, placing one hand on her hip and the other around her waist. He steadied Willow and then drew her backwards into his body. "How's about we head for your room…you sure look as though you could do with a lie down."

"Capital idea, Mr Harris!" Willow announced loudly. Her full bladder was forgotten at the thought of lying down. "Please take me straight to bed!"

Several other patrons in the bar sniggered at her announcement; Willow didn't see the broad grin on Alex's face as he helped her eagerly from the room, his hands securely wrapped around her waist. They had no sooner left the room and headed towards the stairs than Myles Cavendish appeared at the top of the landing above. He bounded quickly down the stairs and straightened up to his full height in front of Alex and Willow.

"Myles!" Willow grinned when she glanced up and recognised her assistant. "You've just missed having a beer with us! Mr Harris, back to the bar, let's go have another one with Myles!"

Alex smiled a little awkwardly in Myles's direction. "Er, I think Ms Rosenberg was fixing to go to bed. I was just helping her along there, see."

"I'll escort Miss Rosenberg to her room if you don't mind, Mr Harris," Myles announced confidently.

"Nonsense, my man!" Alex placed a hand on Myles's shoulder and gave him a friendly but firm shove out of his path. "Why don't you pay a visit to the bar and find your own woman!"

Alex had only helped Willow a few more steps before Myles was back in front of him. "I think that ought to be your course of action, Mr Harris. If you don't release Miss Rosenberg then you can be assured that I will inform Director Croft of your lack of professionalism, and you will never ever be hired by our organisation again."

"There's no need for that!" Alex spluttered, sizing up Myles to see just how serious his intentions were. The stern expression on the young man's face did not waiver and Alex was forced to concede. "Okay…don't see what harm I was doing anyway. I was just helping her into bed."

"And intending on climbing in along with her," Myles muttered under his breath as Alex Harris relinquished his hold on the swaying Willow.

The only one seemingly unconcerned by the whole encounter was Willow. She shifted from Alex's arms to Myles's with no complaint and a broad grin on her face. Matters were complicated somewhat a few steps later when they paused at the bottom of the stairs, for some reason Willow found her feet would not lift high enough to take even the first step.

"I'm afraid I might be leaning on you a little heavily," Willow mumbled as she tried to lift her feet again. "My feet feel like they're set in stone."

"Nonsense, I'm a strong lad and you're as light as a feather," Myles was quick to reply.

Despite his bold statement, Myles was of rather small stature and had some difficulty in supporting Willow up the stairs of the hotel and down the corridor to her room. However, he gamely tried not to show any signs of faltering as the two of them made their slow and perilous progression up the rickety flight of stairs. A fellow hotel patron squeezed past them as they were half way up and gave Myles a conspiratorial wink even though the young man had no the slightest intentions of taking advantage of a drunken woman. Myles had to wonder just how many men would stoop that low.

A good five minutes later, he pushed open the door to Willow's room. The curtains were open and the light of a bright full moon streamed through the panes, illuminating the surfaces in the room.

"Are you sure you'll be alright?" Myles seemed reluctant to leave Willow in her state of inebriation.

"I'll be fine, thank you very much, Myles - especially for heading off Mr Harris."

"Well I figured he had unsavoury intentions." Myles blushed bright red.

"Well then…I think I am lucky that I travel with at least one gentleman," Willow replied in all honesty. For all his shortfalls, Myles was a genuinely nice young chap. "If you wouldn't mind leaving the basin by the bed…just in case my stomach disagrees with me during the night."

Myles fetched the basin as requested and placed it on the floor beside the bed. From the green-grey tinge to Willow's face, he did not think that it was there for a 'just in case' moment. He also fetched the pitcher of water and set it on the table just within her grasp. When he looked back at Willow, she was slumped into the depths of her feather pillow with her eyes closed, snoring softly.

"Ah, Willow?" he prodded her firmly with the tip of his finger. She didn't stir except to utter a half snore/half snort and roll over to face the other direction. Myles glanced down at her boots which were still firmly on her feet and the covers which were all trapped beneath her body. "Shall I take your boots off?"

Myles didn't expect an answer, it was clear Willow had already fallen into a deep sleep and would not be roused by anything short of a blast of icy water in the face…even then he expected that would have no effect. He debated whether he should take it upon himself to remove her boots and perhaps her jacket but just the thought of touching her while she was asleep was enough to send him into a fit of panicked breathing.

"I'll just be next door if you…" Myles began as he backed out of the room, he then realised that talking to her was pointless and made his exit gratefully. Although he did pause for a few moments just outside the door and wonder if he had made the right decision. He decided that he had and closed the door quietly behind him.

Perched just outside the window to Willow's hotel room, Tara heard the gentle tap as the young man closed the door behind him. She waited for a further minute before passing through the slight gap between the window and the sill as a gentle cloud of mist. When her body reformed she was standing in the middle of the room, not a sound had been made. The moonlight clearly revealed Willow lying on her back in the middle of her bed; her soft snores filled the room. Tara smiled, she didn't recall Willow ever snoring…and yet she also could not recall Willow ever drinking to excess. As Tara approached she knew she should not be getting this close, she was supposed to be watching over Willow, not interfering directly. Still, she had kept her distance for so long and could no longer resist keeping Willow at arm's length. She needed to be closer to her.

Tara stood over the bed, Willow was fully clothed, boots, jacket and all. Gently, she reached down and tugged Willow's jacket down, lifting her arms so she could pull them free of the sleeves. Willow jerked suddenly, her snoring stopped and she woke, her eyelids fluttering slightly but not opening fully.

"Sorry, got a bit carried away with the old drink," Willow mumbled as she lifted her arms to help Tara get her out of the jacket. "Thanks awfully for this, Myles."

Tara did not offer a as she hung the jacket on a peg protruding from the wall. It was her hope that she could bundle Willow fully into bed and leave without her ever having realised who was in her room. Her plan was undone just a moment later when she turned to find Willow's eyes completely open. She was staring directly at her. She watched Willow's expression transform from one of immediate shock to something akin to recognition. Tara moved back to Willow's bed side even as the other woman propped herself up on her elbows. Her head cocked slightly to one side as she studied Tara's face.

"You…you're the one that's in my dreams," Willow whispered softly, as she gazed up at Tara's face directly above her. "For so long I couldn't see the woman's face…but it was you all along, you're Tara Maclay."

Tara couldn't reply, just the sound of her own name rolling from Willow's lips after all these years was enough to make her heart soar. She knew it was foolish to reveal herself to Willow in this manner but she had tortured herself for too long. Surely she had earned just these few moments? They were moments Willow probably would not even remember in the morning.

Still without speaking, she continued undressing Willow. The redhead seemed unconcerned that a practical stranger was in her room. She obediently lifted her hands over her head as Tara tugged her shirt off. Tara's fingers brushed ever so lightly against Willow's breast as she did so and she snatched them away as though she had felt fire.

Despite the lack of response to her initial statement and her half-dreamy state, Willow was not about to pass up the opportunity to have her questions answered. Willow remembered reading something about a marriage and a love that couldn't be. Her mind couldn't quite process the fact that the writer of the diary seemed to be alive and sitting in her hotel room. It was further evidence pointing towards what Willow had already suspected…but she couldn't quite remember what she had suspected in the first place. Something unnatural was afoot. The writer of the diary would have been well over a hundred years old.

"I have...so many questions for you," Willow continued. Much like any researcher she desperately wanted the answers, even when drunk. "You married Edward Walsh."

Tara's breath caught in her throat at the simple statement. Those few words stirred memories that she had suppressed in the deepest corner of her mind for over a century. Just the mention of that man's name, even though he was long dead, was enough to stir the worst kind of fear. Coming from Willow's lips, it was especially potent. Her hands were trembling as she folded Willow's shirt and placed it on the end of the bed.

"I-I did," Tara struggled to force the simple words between her lips; it was almost as bad as saying 'I do' all over again. She had to sit down, and the only place she could find to sit was the edge of Willow's bed.

"To protect her," a sleepy Willow mumbled as she subconsciously rolled over and moved closer to Tara's weight on the bed next to her.

Tara felt her heart twinge at Willow's simple statement. She had been waiting for over a hundred years to explain to Willow the reasons behind her decision to marry Edward, in person and not through the pages of her diary. Now that it had finally come about Tara felt something of an anti-climax. It no longer mattered now that Edward Walsh and Willow Van Helsing were dead and she had…changed. However, as she sat on the edge of the bed in that tiny hotel room in the middle of continental Europe staring down at the dopey redhead, she felt close to being human once again.

"To protect you," Tara whispered, brushing a stray strand of Willow's hair from her forehead.

Willow did not pick up on the whispered statement and Tara rose from the bed to untie Willow's heavy boots. Once the boots were off she turned her attention to Willow's trousers. She gently undid the waist and hooked both her thumbs beneath the band so she could slide them downwards.

"Lift your hips," Tara commanded quietly. Her heart hammered as though it was going to burst from her chest.

Willow obliged raising them just enough so Tara could slip them down over her hips and her thighs. Tara felt the smooth skin of Willow's thighs beneath her thin underwear and she remembered back to another time when that flesh had been hers to explore. This time however, she did not, could not linger and concentrated on just removing her trousers. She folded them and placed them next to the shirt at the end of Willow's bed. When she turned back to face Willow she caught her breath. The redhead was lying on the bed, clad in just her woollen underwear. The skintight garment left little to the imagination even though it covered her from wrists to ankles.

"Beneath the covers," Tara ordered quickly, needing to remove the tempting sight as soon as possible.

However, as she reached out to peel back the blankets Willow's hand shot out with surprising speed and her fingers fastened around Tara's wrist. Tara froze at the contact. Willow's touch was firm on her bare skin Tara found herself drawn closer to Willow, fixated on the longing within her emerald eyes.

"Touch me…please?" Willow asked, knowing only that she needed the blonde woman's hands directly on her skin.

With the hand that wasn't holding Tara's, Willow began clumsily undoing the neck buttons on her underwear.

Tara could not take her eyes away from the increasingly area of smooth white skin that Willow revealed with each button she managed to undo. She was so transfixed that she did not blink until Willow had finished her task and was peeling the undergarment away from her chest. With awkward fingers she tugged it down over her shoulder to completely bare one breast. Tara's breath caught painfully in her throat. She had not been struck so helpless at the sight of a woman's body for a long time - not since she had last seen her lover naked. "You have no idea what you're doing," she whispered.

"No…but you can show me," Willow pleaded. She deliberately moved the hand she held across to her breast.

Tara closed her eyes as her fingers touched the mound of flesh with the taught nipple nudging the palm of her hand. She knew she could not possibly give into Willow and yet the almost forgotten but still familiar urges were flooding her body.

"Can vampires make love?"

Tara eyes snapped open at the sound of Willow's innocent sounding question. She jerked her hand away. "How did you know?"

Willow propped herself up, her head lolling about on her shoulders slightly. "The photo I took of you in the park, the film could not capture you. Then here's what I don't understand...you were there in the middle of the day. Not to mention the fact that you're not trying to drink my blood." Willow shrugged, seeming to forget that just a moment ago she was asking Tara to touch her and that her breast was still bared. "Which is a good thing for me…but it doesn't make any sense."

_No it doesn't_, Tara thought with a gut-wrenching twist. _But then again everything stopped making sense the day I refused to run away with my love._

Tara reached out quickly and drew Willow's underwear safely across her breast. She then took the time to redo each button. As she drew the blankets up over Willow's body, she was relieved when the redhead shifted without protest.

"What happened to you? You should be dead after all this time." Willow burrowed contentedly beneath the covers and stifled a yawn as she regarded Tara with half-closed eyes. "But instead of being dead you're a vampire. Which is just like being dead anyway isn't it? The walking undead - a demon in a human body."

"I am not a demon!" Tara replied more vehemently than she had intended. _But I did die, in every sense of the word_. Now was not the time for such a conversation or a debate about exactly what category of unfortunate creature she could be defined as - especially when Willow was in no fit state to process the information and would barely even remember the answers when she woke. "It is of no consequence. What does matter is you getting some sleep. You have another long day on the road tomorrow, another day closer to your destiny-" Tara paused, a slip of the tongue. "-your destination."

Willow did not reply, nor did she seek answers to further questions. The redhead had slipped once more into the deep sleep of someone who had had far too much to drink. Tara almost felt like wakening her up, wanting to her that soft voice a few more times but she knew it was pointless, what she did dare to do however was lean over and place a gentle kiss on Willow's cheek. Her lips pressed against the smooth skin and her entire body tingled with shock at the contact. She drew away after just a split second, not daring to linger lest she loose control again, crossing quickly to the window.

As Tara cast one last look over her shoulder at the young woman she felt an intense desire to return to her side and simply curl up with her on that narrow bed. She allowed herself to entertain the thought for mere seconds. It simply could not be…just as she could not come out and explain everything to Willow, there were some things that took time to be done correctly. Even though their time was running out and the Covasna Resurrection was fast approaching, they could not afford to rush Willow. The girl had to find her own answers.

* * *

As Willow's eyelids fluttered open, she felt cold air on her upper body. She lifted her heavy arms to find that she was clad in just her woollen vest. She immediately drew the blankets up over her chest, wriggling slightly to confirm that she was also just wearing her knickers. Something had definitely gone a miss between her alcohol binge the previous night and climbing into bed. Willow lifted her head from the pillow and glanced around the room to confirm there was no one else present watching her sleep in her underwear or worse yet, sleeping in the bed beside her. She was sitting up scanning the room when she felt a massive rush of nausea to her head and she was forced to slump back against the pillow with an agonized groan. Her body was clearly not going to let her get off lightly after pouring a disgusting amount of beer and spirits into her gullet.

_Self-inflicted, Rosenberg…the pain is all self-inflicted._

As she lay with her head pressed back against the pillow, trying to make her eyes work properly in the dim morning light, foggy memories of the previous evening began to float slowly back into her mind. She very clearly remembered her initial drinking binge with Alex Harris being chiefly responsible for the purchasing of the large quantity of drink.

"He was deliberately trying to get me drunk!" Willow was rather appalled by the realisation and the subsequent memories of Mr Harris trying to escort her back to her room before Myles stepped in.

She was still spluttering indignantly even as she went through the rest of her memories from the evening. They became rather hazy as soon as Myles brought her through the door to her hotel room. What followed may very well have been a dream.

Still, Willow lifted the covers to double check, someone had removed all her clothes and she was almost certain that it had not been Myles. There had been an intoxicating scent, Willow was sure of it; even as she lay awake she was certain she could still smell the faintest tang lingering in the room. The scent…and long blonde hair leaning over her body…definitely not Myles. She remembered the smooth hands moving against her body as they peeled away each layer of her clothing. There had definitely been a hand on her breast and something stirred pleasantly in her loins.

Willow pressed her hand to her cheek as though it burned at the memory of the kiss planted there. She remembered speaking and being spoken to, something exceptionally significant…but the exact words would not come for all her trying. Even though she couldn't remember everything, a small smile crossed her lips. She wasn't sure whether she should be more worried about the fact that she may have been taken advantage of in her drunken state…or the fact that she savoured every hazy memory of it.


	11. As Mad as a Hatter

**Chapter 11**  
**As Mad as a Hatter**

"Willow."

Willow squeezed her eyes tighter as though the simple action would somehow send her back to sleep and block out whoever was trying to wake her. However, the insistent voice would not go away and whoever was speaking even resorted to shaking her gently by the shoulder. With a small growling yawn Willow stretched on the hard seat beneath her as though it were a feather bed and peered hesitantly from one eye to see a the outline of a man standing in front of her. At first she thought it was Myles but the man's arms were bulky where Myles was like a rake. Her eyes jerked open and she pressed her entire body back against the seat in an effort to get as far away as possible from the man hunched over in front of her.

"What do you want, Mr Harris?" Willow asked quickly. She hoped that the faster she managed to get the words out, the faster he would be out of her sight.

For the past week of their journey she had managed quite successfully to either avoid Alex Harris or ensure that she had Myles with her. She made it a point to request a hotel room as far away from his as possible and never shared his carriage on trains. Myles alone was a particularly effective foil for any of Harris' antics as he had perfected his 'stay away' glare to the point where it scared small children.

"We've just arrived in Klausenburg. I think you'll be wanting to get off the train before it departs." He straightened up and moved back a pace, sensing her discomfort.

"Ah, thank you," Willow replied, wondering why Myles had not come to wake her instead of Alex Harris.

It was as though Alex had sensed her thoughts and he went on to add, "I wanted to have a moment with you alone."

Willow immediately raised her eyebrows in fright. 'Alone' with Alex Harris was definitely the last place she wanted to be.

"No, no," Alex quickly waved his hands in front of him as though that were enough to dispel her fears. "I wanted to apologise to you…and as I don't make too many apologies I didn't exactly want an audience."

"The fact that you don't make apologies often can hardly be put down to the fact that you seldom offend people," Willow retorted quickly, still pressed hard against the seat.

"Well forgive me for trying, Miss Rosenberg," Alex actually managed to appear offended as though he did not think that there was a grain of truth in Willow's observation. "I know I riled you up some and I aim to set things right between us."

"You riled me up?" Willow answered, thinking that this was quite possibly the worst apology she had ever received. "You plied me with drink and then tried to take advantage of me. I would say I have every right to be riled up!"

"It's partially your fault!" Alex retorted, pointing an accusatory finger at Willow.

"Mr Harris, your apology is not going at all well," Willow said coldly. Her eyes narrowed as they stared at his pointing finger.

Alex immediately lowered his finger and appeared flustered as he tried to put the little thoughts ticking over in his brain into comprehensible words. "Well, you're not making this any easier, what I was fixing to say was girls like you, they don't ordinarily give guys like me a second glance."

"What do you mean 'girls like me'?" Willow's eyes remained narrowed, her tone of voice suspicious.

"Nice girls!" Alex seemed pleased that he had found a way to sum her up, "You know, nice, well-mannered, beautiful gentlewomen. You see, I tend to attract the ones with big breasts, too much make up and no class whatsoever."

"That's understandable," Willow replied quickly, however she was mulling over the rest of his sentence in her mind and it brought slight warmth to her cheeks. "But I would hardly apply the rest of those descriptors to me…well, perhaps nice, but I'm not well-mannered and I'm most certainly not beautiful.

"Yes you are!" he insisted fervently.

Willow drew in a deep breath. Unfortunately she was rendered even more uncomfortable in the presence of Alexander Harris by his latest statement. Unused to being paid such compliments about her physical appearance she could not decide whether he was speaking the truth or it was merely another ruse to lure her into a sexual situation. She decided to stop cowering against the seat and straightened herself up, even leaning towards Alex Harris in order to prove to herself that she was capable of protecting her own honour.

"I thank you for your apology, Mr Harris. However I would like to make sure you're very clear on the fact that I'm not interested in you in any way. Not now, not tomorrow and nor any time before hell freezes over." Willow kept her words low and firm, hoping that even if he did not pick up on the content, he would at least pick up on her tone - much like a dog. "Are we both reading the same page on this issue?"

Alex nodded, a small smile of relief crossing his face. "Why yes we are, Miss Rosenberg."

Alex turned at the sound of footsteps behind him and he bristled openly at the sight of Myles Cavendish. The young man hardly came up to his chin and yet he still stepped right up to face him, the fact that he had to look up at Alex did not detract from the force of his stare.

"Do you need any help here, Willow?" Myles asked, not breaking his stare.

"No thank you, Myles," Willow could see Myles's small fists clenched at his side and she admired his pluck, if it did come to blows between the plucky little office boy and the field hardened guide, there would be no doubt as to who would come off second best. "Mr Harris and I were just resolving a few issues between us"

It was Myles's turn to raise his eyebrows as he looked towards Willow for confirmation, she nodded and he appeared appeased for the moment. He stepped around Alex Harris and moved to collect their luggage from the overhead racks.

"So, where are we meeting this guy?" Myles asked moments later as the trio stepped from the train and moved onto the platform, his voice was fairly oozing with curiosity.

"The rendezvous is scheduled for this evening, just after dusk," Willow removed a small piece of paper from the pocket of her jacket and glanced down at the instructions Lara had written regarding their contact, she turned to look at Myles. "But you will be staying at the hotel."

Myles's jaw dropped and his cheeks flushed red. Just before he was about to say something he quickly closed his mouth and bit his tongue. His disappointment however was manifested in the sullen slump of his shoulders and the fact that he was obviously dragging Willow's bag along the platform.

Willow ignored the young man's reaction and instead turned to Alex to seek his expertise. "Is that unusual, Mr Harris, a meeting after dark?"

"You'll soon learn that nothing is unusual around here," Alex replied, patting the bulge beneath his jacket where his revolver was concealed.

* * *

As Willow and Alex made their way out into the night just prior to the scheduled time to meet Faith's contact, Willow was surprised to find that the well lit streets of Klausenburg were actually far less intimidating than she had first imagined. Although she had not forgotten the harrowing narrow escape in Paris, she had to admit to herself the she felt confident with Alex Harris at her side. The man may have been a rotten, womanising scoundrel most of the time, but when it came time for business, he was oozing professionalism. She'd seen him add a small arsenal of weaponry to the revolver beneath his coat including a small collapsible crossbow loaded with silver bolts strapped to his back and several stakes tucked into the lining of his jacket.

Willow had just one small silver dagger tucked in her boot, she'd wanted to take the sword but realised it was rather wishful thinking given she did not have the slightest clue as to how to wield it, despite her surprising display with Giles in the practice room. She'd tried…spending time in front of the mirrors of various hotel rooms throughout their journey but she could not manage anything resembling competency. She supposed that if they did run into any trouble, she would have to rely on Alex to do anything involving stabbing with pointy things while she did the one thing she could manage with reasonable skill…running.

"So, you must be pretty good friends with Faith?" Alex asked, eager to break up the monotony of hearing nothing but their boots sounding on the cobbles and the occasional clatter of a carriage.

Willow nodded, also relieved to have conversation to occupy her busy mind. "I guess you'd call it that. Although sometimes I believe she treats me as a wayward little sister."

"Faith and I, we've had our moments," Alex began enthusiastically. "Why there was this one time when she-"

"Don't try to insinuate anything, Mr Harris, I'll know that you're lying." Willow knew Faith too well to believe anything that Alex Harris would claim had happened between the two of them.

Alex turned to face Willow as they walked with an affronted expression on his face. "I was meaning moments in terms of run-ins with demons, vampires the like. Do you have to judge me so harshly after that one little misunderstanding between us?"

Willow raised her eyebrows. "I would hardly call it a 'little misunderstanding' but I do apologise for jumping to conclusions. I just couldn't imagine your little routine working with Faith that's all."

"Hell no…that woman is scary!" Alex was quick to reply. "I'd sooner try to woo a Russian farmer's wife."

Willow grinned. "I know exactly what you mean. She is particularly intimidating. I've seen her in action and her skills impressive to say the least…although there was this one time where I had to save her from the clutches of an Atramen demon."

"Now you're pulling my leg!" Alex replied in disbelief.

Willow drew herself up to her full height. "I would never! If not for my quick thinking in throwing that lamp, Faith would have been rendered into a rather unpleasant pile of mushy stuff."

"Because Atramen don't care much for fire." Alex nodded knowingly.

Willow was more than a little impressed, but she kept her thoughts to herself. She glanced at the nearest street sign and back to the small map in her hand. "I think we take a right here."

"You're right, stay close to me…and keep your eyes peeled in all directions…but don't look like you're keeping too much of a look out or you'll advertise the fact that you're nervous," Alex cautioned in a serious tone. "These streets we're now entering are home to dark magick practitioners and the like. I wouldn't recommend shoppin' for souvenirs lest you pick up something that should not be touched."

Although his warning was well meant, it only served to make Willow even more nervous, her eyes darting left and right into every dark nook and cranny. Alex's rather cursory description of the area of Klausenburg they were entering did not even begin to describe their surroundings. The streets were far narrower here, the higher floors of the buildings seeming to jut out over the streets, giving the place a claustrophobic atmosphere with only a narrow strip of night sky visible above. The buildings themselves were ancient, stone with sharply tiled roofs and dark gables. Incomprehensible signs jutted out into the street, many were so faded that the image could no longer be discerned. Of the few that Willow could see, the image immediately put her off visiting…what looked like bodily organs on one and a baby's skull on another. Willow nudged closer to Alex, wondering if he would take it the wrong way if she held onto his jacket.

Unlike the well lit, reasonably recognisable areas of the city through which they had just passed, these darker, narrower streets were teeming with pedestrians and loiterers. Willow suspected that this part of the city only came alive after dark. She shivered when she realised that her assumption was in fact more than that, it was probably true. Many figures wore deep hooded cowls that shrouded their features in darkness. Many of those that did not featured some sort of facial disfigurement or other oddity that led Willow to stare in fascination.

They continued through the maze of narrow streets until they had passed entirely through the throng of people and into an even darker neighbourhood where they were the only things moving on two legs. Willow had to suppress a scream as a cat-sized rat ran over the toe of her boot. Almost every single building was boarded up and looked as though they had been that way for the last hundred years.

"Well, we're in the right place," Willow glanced up at a derelict house with scepticism written plainly on her face. "Do you think the address was recorded incorrectly?"

Alex gamely tried the door but it barely moved on its hinges despite his best efforts. He shifted to have one booted foot placed on the door frame for leverage and tried once more.

"Well, well, well," a low voice rumbled in the darkness behind the pair and they spun about to see a dark shape emerging from the shadows. "Now there's a sight I never would have thought I would be witnessing again."

Alex ceased his struggles with the door and turned, Willow was already facing the stranger. She found herself edging close to Alex as the cloaked figure approached. It was a tall, broad-shouldered man, striding towards then with a confident, proud swagger. His face was all strong angles and exceptionally pale. Willow was instantly reminded of the mysterious blonde woman who haunted her steps and she inched so close to Alex she was almost holding his hand. His hair was dark and close cropped, when he was close enough Willow could see that his eyes were almost black, they seemed to be stripping away all her defences. As his gaze pierced her soul Willow felt as though she had been struck by an invisible wall moving towards her. She stumbled slightly, overwhelmed by a succession of fleeting images, all too fast for her to see with any clarity. Thankfully Alex Harris, at her side, was staring too intently at their guest to notice her discomfort.

He came to a halt a scant metre away from Alex and Willow, a small smile curving his rather thin lips. Still looking directly at Willow, he cocked his head to one side as though sizing her up.

"You're looking lovely this evening, Miss-" He paused as though he were about to say something before re-thinking his words, "Miss Rosenberg. I have to say this moonlight becomes you very nicely indeed."

"Thank you," Willow whispered. "How do you know-"

"Your name?" he interrupted brusquely. "Faith of course. She can't possibly know more than one red-haired woman named Willow…and your friend is?"

"Mr Harris," Alex replied for himself. "You have a message for us?"

He shook his head slowly, making a chiding sound as he did so. "Not for you…for Willow."

As he made to reach inside his coat pocket, Alex's hand immediately leapt inside his own jacket. Willow knew his fingers were wrapped around the hilt of his revolver. However, before he could draw it, the place stranger had withdrawn a small, folded piece of paper and was offering it to Willow.

With some hesitation, Willow reached out and accepted the paper. She was careful to avoid touching his fingers as she did so. The paper felt old and leathery to her touch as she unfolded it and looked at it in the dim light.

"It's a map," Willow whispered, glancing back up at their contact.

Her voice must have betrayed her surprise as he asked, "You were expecting information perhaps?"

"Perhaps…I wasn't sure what to expect," Willow glanced back down at the sketchily drawn lines that could have been almost anywhere in the world.

"This," he announced pointing down at the map. "This is all the information you need."

"All the information I need for what?"

Willow couldn't bring herself to look up at the man once more, just the sight of him made her flesh crawl for some unknown reason. He looked at her as though he knew her…and not as a long lost friend.

She did however study the map intently and was further unnerved by the thought that she had seen a winding path high above a river, much like the one that was depicted on the map. It was impossible, the map depicted no place in England and yet she had never before been to the continent. Eventually the map disturbed her to the point that she was forced to face the contact again. He was smiling at her.

"It's all the information you need to find what it is you've been searching for," was his cryptic answer to her question.

With the unsettling smile still fixed on his face, he turned to retrace his steps in the direction he had come. Apparently that was all the information he had to offer. Willow glanced back at the map, still unable to shake the feeling of intense familiarity that had her in its icy grip.

"Well that was odd," Alex commented as the man's back disappeared into the darkness ahead, he turned and stared at Willow with a thoughtful expression that almost made him look intelligent.

"How was it odd?" Willow's tone was furtive, as though she was worried of being accused of a crime she didn't commit. "I mean, how was it not supposed to be odd? He's a shady Eastern European informant and we're agents of the British Museum. It's not like these meetings are going to be normal. Although this was my first one so I don't have any prior experience to go by."

Alex patiently waited until Willow have finished her babble and replied quietly, "It was odd…it seemed as though he knew you from some other place - a long time ago."

If Alex scared himself with his own deep speculation, he scared Willow more. She was forced to readdress the emotions and images that had been dredged up at the sight of their informant. It scared her to think that Alex might in fact be right.

"You're being ridiculous Alex," Willow clutched the small piece of paper in her hand. "In what world would someone like me ever mingle with someone like him?"

"Err…" Alex paused. "Weren't we mingling just now?"

Willow rounded on him. "Don't try and get all dicey semantics on me, Mr Harris. I don't know that man…and I've never seen him before tonight. Is that clear enough for you?"

"Yes," Alex squeaked, unnerved by the sudden appearance of Willow's sharp defences.

"Good." Willow nodded resolutely as though that were the end of the matter, she turned their combined attentions back to the task at hand. "Where to from here?"

"Well, I'd say we set about buying ourselves some horses in the morning and setting out…if you're set on following that there map?" Alex nodded towards the scrap of paper in Willow's hand.

Willow tucked it carefully in her pocket. "I am." Her confident expression then slowly morphed into one of trepidation, she swallowed awkwardly. "Did you say…horses?"

* * *

The fire had long since died down to a mere pile of smouldering embers, throwing only the dimmest of outlines around the blanketed forms huddled around it. In the darkness beyond the fire a single presence was watching from her perch on the branch of a large tree.

Tara had remained crouched in the same position she had held since settling on the branch almost four hours earlier when Willow's small party had made camp for the evening. Her only movement was that which was stirred by the gentle wind, the swaying of her hair about her face and the tail of her coat as it hung behind her. Although her pose appeared relaxed, settled back on her haunches with her arms resting lightly across her knees, her eyes were alert and focused on the camp, her ears attuned to every sound the forest made at night. She had watched the party eat and fold themselves into their blankets, all weary after a hard day's riding. Tara had smiled at Willow's vehement protestations that her horse had it in for her…some things never changed. While Willow and the boy were sleeping, their guide was supposed to be keeping watch but Tara had seen him fall asleep not long ago, his snores were now filling the small clearing and managing to irritate Tara who usually considered herself to be impervious to small irritants.

Even with her sharp vision, she could only make out Willow's blanketed form several metres away. She longed to move closer if just to watch her sleep. Tara knew she could move closer without awakening their idiot guide but she also knew that being in closer proximity to Willow would distract her from her vigil. She remained crouched on the branch, torturing herself with memories of watching Willow's face as she slept…memories long faded by the passage of time.

Dawn was still at least two hours away when Tara suddenly heard a faint but unmistakable sound. She cocked her head to one side and listened intently. Seconds later she dropped from the tree effortlessly and silently. No sooner had she landed, she was moving across the ground, not running but gliding. Her feet made no sound with each step despite the speed at which she moved. The black coat she wore fanned out behind her as she wove through trees, ducking branches and avoiding low bushes. She could see them now, three shadowy figures approaching the clearing. They moved confidently, not making any attempts to conceal their presence. All three faces turned to face Tara who burst through the trees to bar their path to the clearing. Simultaneously the three bared their fangs, vampires all.

"I knew I smelt dinner!" the nearest growled. His pale face was flabby and waxen.

His companions moved to stand near him and one pushed past, a tall heavily built man who had been young at the time of turning. Long black hair framed his face with its sharp jaw line. The confident stance he struck betrayed him as a leader of sorts. As he approached Tara he opened his coat with a flick of his hand to reveal the hilt of a sword, his fingers closed around the hilt.

"Who are you?" he demanded with narrowed eyes.

"That is none of your concern," Tara assumed a casual posture, her arms loosely at her side. "What you should be concerned with is turning around and leaving this place."

"We've been hunting all night and I'm starving!" The third, a stocky woman lifted her fist and shook it at Tara as she moved towards her. "You step aside and we might spare you if your friends satisfy us."

The leader halted her movement with a curt movement of his hand, still keeping his gaze fixed on the strange woman standing so nonchalantly in front of them.

"I cannot allow you any closer, find your meal elsewhere!" Tara's voice was firmer, more threatening.

"I should think a better question should be what are you?" he sneered, his nose twitching as though he were trying to pick up a scent. "You are not of the blood and yet you are not human."

"Enough warnings have been given. I am on our Master's business and that is all you need to know!" Tara was growing impatient. Even the scant information she revealed was far more than she intended. It was more than this scum needed to know.

"You lie!" the long-haired vampire growled. In one swift movement he drew the blade he had been gripping since Tara's appearance. There was no further warning as he plunged the sword into Tara's stomach with all the incredible strength of the undead.

Tara heard the blade slide into her gut with a dull rasping sound as it grazed skin and clothing. She glanced down to see it buried to the hilt and then up to see the vampire's face twisted into a cruel smile. He drew his foot upwards and placed it next to the sword, with one savage push he shoved her body backwards away from the sword and sent her spinning to the ground. Tara hit the ground and immediately crumpled into a heap – a dark unmoving shape to the on-looking vampires. She could hear their furtive steps as they moved to encircle her.

"What if she was telling the truth!" Tara heard the flabby vampire whine. "What if she really is on…his business?"

"Cuza, you fat pig. She's not of the blood!" the woman snarled in response. "Now we'll have four instead of three!"

"I don't know," Cuza was obviously unconvinced by his companion's logic. "Why wasn't she terrified of us like most humans?"

They were still bickering amongst themselves when their 'meal' sprang directly to her feet. Tara adopted an aggressive posture and snarled to give all three vampires a clear view of her fangs.

"You fools, stay out of matters about which you know naught!" Tara hissed. Despite the situation, she enjoyed the sight of their shocked expressions.

She had absolutely no mercy for fools and darted forward, the female vampire did not even realise what was happening amidst the swirl of Tara's coat and hair until she was screaming and stumbling with her arms flailing wildly. Her eyes had been ripped out.

The bloody eyeballs fell from Tara's fingers as she spun, to face the other vampires. Before they could recover from their horror at the sight of their blinded companion, Tara relieved the long-haired one of his sword with a quick darting movement of her hand. Her bloody fingers curled around the hilt before he even realised he was weapon-less. He glanced down at his empty hand, it was frozen as though he were still clutching the sword. With one last glance up at Tara's smiling face he spun on his heels and bolted from the scene in terror.

Tara glanced across to the fat vampire, Cuza, whose expression suggested that he too wanted nothing more than to flee. She shrugged as if leaving the decision up to him and then whirled in the direction of the running vampire. He had just passed into the trees but was clearly in view. Tara lunged forward, her left hand outstretched. A searing fireball burst from her palm and in seconds the figure in the distance was engulfed. He burned for a split second before exploding into nothing but burning embers.

Torn between the decision to run and become a conflagration himself, Cuza remained frozen to the same spot. He stared in horror at his companions, all that remained of one was a few burning twigs in the undergrowth and the other was still stumbling like a lunatic, tracks of blood from her eyeless sockets running down her face. As the terrible woman rounded on him he made a desperate attempt to defend himself with an attack of his own. His movements were clumsy, inhibited by his bulk and his fear. Tara easily avoided his swinging fists with mere steps, moving with a fluidity and effortlessness that made her almost impossible to touch. She did not feel the slightest remorse when she lifted the sword to shoulder level and brought it across in an arc. The sword sang as it severed Cuza's head, Tara's stroke barely faltering as the blade passed through flesh and bone. Both the head and body were nothing but dust before they could fall to the ground. What was left was scattered by the wind.

Tara turned her attention to the lone vampire remaining. Her frantic stumbling had ceased, replaced by a primal anger at the loss of her eyes. She had smelt Tara out and was facing in her direction, fingers extended like claws as she prepared to make a desperate strike. As Tara circled her, she kept moving to continue facing her even though she could not see.

"You kill your own kind!" she accused with a snarl, making a wild slash with her fingers that missed as Tara deftly stepped out of reach.

Tara darted forward, standing right beside the blinded vampire as she spoke into her ear. "I am not of your kind, demon!"

The vampire spun, visibly disturbed by Tara's proximity. She made another sweeping slash but only grazed Tara's coat as she moved out of reach. Before she could sense Tara again, she found vice-like fingers wrapped around her neck and in one swift movement she was jerked from the ground.

Tara lifted her prey with inhuman strength. Holding it at arm's length in front of her, she strode forward towards the nearest tree. No sooner had she slammed the struggling vampire back against the trunk, she burst into dust in her hand. More dust blew off the jagged branch upon which it had been impaled. Tara watched for a few moments and then turned her back, walking back towards the clearing where her charges hopefully still slept soundly, unaware of the dangers which had stalked them.

As she walked she lifted her hand and saw bloody coating her fingertips and running over her palm. Tara took a tentative lick but spat it out almost immediately, it tasted like mud.

When she returned to the clearing, Tara found the three humans still sleeping soundly. She glanced up at the tree branch above her head and a few moments later her misty self was reforming atop the branch once more. She settled again into her crouching position and saw out the reminder of the night in her silent vigil.

* * *

"Are you alright, Willow?"

Willow felt her whole body jerk in surprise as though she had suddenly been woken…except that she had never been asleep. The horrible beast beneath her danced in protest at her sudden and unwelcome movement, it snorted and pawed with its hooves and generally behaved like the devil incarnate. Willow squawked in an undignified fashion and tightened her already white-knuckled grip on the reins. The horse eventually settled back into a brisk walk (much too fast for Willow's liking of course).

She glanced across with a scowl to see that it had been Myles interrupting her reverie. The young man appeared not to notice that he had had almost been responsible for Willow falling to her death from the back of the great beast on which she rode, instead he smiled at her in his affable manner.

Willow was incapable of remaining mad with Myles and she returned a small smile.

"I…I didn't sleep very well last night," Willow managed after a moment's hesitation, certainly not about to tell Myles that her mind had been pre-occupied with thoughts of the pale man she and Alex had met the previous evening.

"Yes," Myles nodded with mock solemnity. "I've heard that one does not sleep well on the dirt with a root digging into your back."

Willow failed to pick up on the tone of Myles conversation and shook her head absently. "No, it wasn't that. I felt as though someone was watching us. All night I felt as though there were a pair of eyes firmly fixed on me." She flashed Myles an awkward grin. "Silly I know."

"It's not that silly," Myles sympathised. "We are in the middle of nowhere with no one but him to keep us safe."

He nodded pointedly at Alex who was leading the way several horse-lengths ahead of Willow and Myles. The American turned his head slightly as if to indicate that he had heard Myles before resuming his attention on the map balanced on his saddle horn. Given that he was the only one that knew the country and Willow's inexperience with using maps in the field, he had been tasked with following the route inked out on the small piece of parchment. Throughout much of the journey Willow and Myles had to listen to the map being called various foul epithets as though it were a person in its own right - a particularly disagreeable, capricious person. Apparently it was not a straight forward map to follow.

Every additional day they spent on horseback was an additional day that Willow felt as though she were being pummelled by each jolt her animal made. Each evening she would dismount gratefully only to find her bow-legged stance had not improved. Willow soon realised that no matter how much time she spent on the back of a horse, she would never grow accustomed to it as a mode of transport.

The terrain gradually became more mountainous several days into their journey and the sense of déjà vu lurking at the back of Willow's brain came to the forefront. This particular morning had dawned ugly and grey with the distinct threat of rain hanging in the air. Gone was the dense forest on either side of the road, it was replaced by a high canopy of evergreen pines that lined a rocky route. It was a route that seemed to be leading them even higher. In the distance Willow could hear the rushing of a substantial amount water and she remembered the route on the map eventually joined a river.

When Alex took a fork in the path that led them away from the nearby river Willow did not hesitate in spurring her horse forwards, continuing up the path she knew to be leading them in the right direction. She surprised herself with her own decisiveness but knew that stranger things had happened to her over the past few months.

Just behind her, Myles paused at the fork and glanced at each of his two companions wondering which had taken the right route. Although Alex had the map, he had still not managed to forgive the American and distrusted him with all the passion he could muster.

"I say!" he called out to the lone figure disappearing around a bend. "I think you'll find you've gone the wrong way."

With that confident assertion, he too spurred his horse in the same direction Willow had taken, falling in place just behind her. She glanced over her shoulder at the sound of his horses' steps and smiled gratefully.

"Do tell me you are going in the right direction, Willow?" he asked with just a hint of trepidation in his voice. "Otherwise I'll look like a complete arse in front of that idiot."

"I can't make any promises, Myles old chap," Willow drew in a discreet breath. "But we're supposed to be going this way. I'm quite sure of it."

By the time Alex had turned around and made his way back to the path Willow and Myles had taken, he was some distance behind them. He was swearing profusely and trying to read the map as he rode.

"Where in the bloody hell do you two think you're going?" Alex yelled out after them. He was resolutely ignored as the two figures disappeared ahead of him.

The promised rain had startled to fall later that afternoon, a soft blanket of moisture that managed to find its way beneath layers of clothes and directly into the rider's eyes despite the fact that they were all wearing broad brimmed hats. They rode on in some discomfort, a sullen Alex bringing up the rear of the party, quite sure that Willow was leading them all into disaster.

As Willow wiped her face yet again, unable to remove the stubborn film of moisture, a queasy sensation had begun to develop in her gut. If she had not been convinced earlier that they were going in the right direction then she certainly was now.

After another hour of riding along the steep narrow trail, with Willow keeping her gaze determinedly fixed ahead instead of staring down into the river below them, the rain ceased falling. Eventually the trail even moved away from the river and they were back beneath the pines. Willow's queasy sensation had escalated to the point where she felt she was going to vomit, that was until she broke out of the trees and emerged onto a vast plain. The uncomfortable feeling in her gut was instantly gone and she felt nothing but awe. Behind her Myles gaped and Alex Harris whistled as they too emerged from beneath the trees and onto the very edge of what was an extremely large expanse.

Having spent the greater part of a week riding along narrow trails beneath trees which blocked out the sky above, Willow suddenly felt as though she wanted to turn around and return to those confined spaces…what was laid out in front of her was just too overwhelming.

Willow, Myles and Alex were all struck speechless as they stared out over the wide expanse of the flat plain which stretched miles into the distance that was laid out before them. It was a sheltered valley, bordered by sharply rising rock faces on three sides and forest on the fourth. Save for several large trees, it was almost completely flat and bare - or at least it would have been if not for thousands upon thousands of dark lumps puncturing the surface at irregular intervals.

Willow dismounted, shortly followed suit by both Alex and Myles. While the two men remained holding the reins of their horses, she left her horse and hesitantly started towards the nearest lump. Although she had suspicions as to what the shapes lying in the dirt were, she continued walking; knowing that what she saw would almost certainly terrify her. It was as though she was compelled to venture further out onto the plain.

She stopped walking, gripped by an unexplainable mix of fear and excitement as she stood over what could most simply be explained as a dead body…a very, very long dead body. All trace of flesh was gone from the skeleton, its hollow eye sockets stared up at her mockingly. A cap-like helmet had fallen backwards from the hairless skull and lay in the dirt, the rest of the body was clad in severely rusted armour, partially chain mail and partially plate mail. A mace was still clutched in the bony fingers of its outstretched arm. The cause of the man's death was also plainly obvious; a rusted sword was driven straight through his chest.

Still looking at the impaled body, she stumbled past it and onwards to the next bodies. Willow drew her gaze away from the first and onto the next, a headless corpse, the skull lying a good metre away. As Willow continued onwards through the skeletons she saw just about every form of death imaginable. Skulls were crushed into barely recognisable lumps of bone, some with the instrument of death still embedded in them. Limbs had been hacked and severed rendering the bodies into several pieces. Some corpses were riddled with arrows, still protruding from the bodies as though they had been just embedded the day before.

All were in the same condition as the first, mere skeletons clad in rusty armour, some with tattered remnants of fabric that had once been clothes still clinging to the bones.

It was a pattern which was replicated over and over again across the entire area of the battlefield. It was a graveyard with no graves, a field of death and blood with the blood having long since worn away with the passage of time. Willow imagined it as it must have been; with so many men dying, the plain would have been running rivers of the stuff.

"Willow?"

Willow heard Myles just at her back, his voice trembling with the power of the place.

"What in heck is this place?" Alex's tone was harsher in an attempt to conceal the fear he felt.

"It's Covasna," Willow replied in a breathless voice, a chill ran down her spine as she said the words.

"Covasna?" Myles and Alex asked as one combined voice, both managing to mangle its syllables into an almost unrecognisable word.

"It cannot possible be anything else."

Willow was still in awe as she turned back to face Myles and Alex, Myles held the reins of her horse as well as his and had led the animals out onto the plain. Both horses were growing slightly skittish, prancing tentatively and pawing at the ground. Alex tied his animal to a nearby stump and had almost the same rapt expression on his face as Willow…although where she was seeing knowledge he was seeing booty for the taking.

"We are standing on the field where Vlad Tepes…Dracula to you uncultured types, fought his last battle. This was the last place any human actually saw him!" Willow could hardly contain her excitement. For a scholar in her field, it was like standing on sacred ground, her voice was animated as she spoke, "For almost a decade his legendary bloodthirsty army ravaged the land…you know, impaling their victims and the like…no one could or would confront them until a German Prince from the Black Forest amassed his own army of brave men determined to put an end to the murdering horde led by the spawn of hell – the vampire Dracula. It was said that the prince had enlisted the aid of a powerful warlock to aid him in the fight. While the warlock's existence has never been confirmed, in 1476 the Prince and his army did face Vlad's army and manage to drive them back into the mountains where they harassed and harried them until Vlad, having had his fill of running, decided to make his stand at Covasna for reasons unknown to anyone but him. Eyewitness accounts have the battle lasting three days. Three days of men hacking and slashing each other to pieces until the ground beneath their feet was turned to mud with the amount of blood spilled."

"So the prince defeated Dracula." Myles nodded as though Willow's tale was immensely entertaining.

"Essentially yes," Willow conceded. "My scholarly opinion would be that the Prince's army eventually slew every single warrior in Dracula's army."

"Your scholarly opinion?" Myles seized on Willow's words. "Is it not fact?"

Willow shrugged, "There are few accounts that survive. If there ever was am official history set down it was lost shortly afterwards, those we have are poorly written, contradictory…and it is very difficult to deduce exactly what happened. Much of what did happen was eventually clouded in superstition and myth. Basically, it was popularly held that the reason Dracula's army remained undefeated was that it couldn't be defeated. No one would face him because they believed this to be true."

Alex let out a low whistle and Myles was riveted on Willow's every word, he had since dropped the reins of the horses and was listening intently. The animals had gratefully retreated to the edge of the field.

"Was there a reason why the army could not be defeated?" Myles asked eagerly. "I mean, even if they were all vampires they could still be killed with stakes…beheading, fire…and daylight."

Myles paused, obviously trying to work out how vampires could fight throughout three whole days with combusting as they were prone to do in the face of the sun's rays.

"There's your problem, Myles," Willow quickly added in an authoritative tone. "His army weren't vampires at all. They were just men…evil, evil men but just men nevertheless. It was said they could not be killed so long as their Captain lived…the Prince's army could wound them with ordinarily fatal blows and they would continue to fight, severed limbs grew back, men fought without heads. It's all the stuff of nightmares really."

Alex chuckled appreciatively. "Damn!"

"So someone had to kill this Captain?" Myles was growing slightly pale.

"Legend has it the Prince did. He severed the captain's head after an epic duel. Once the captain dropped dead, Vlad Tepes fled the battlefield and his warriors were slaughtered with swords, arrows - in the normal fashion I suppose. The prince claimed the captain's head as a prize and took it back with him to Germany. I think that is where the stories and myths started. The Prince no doubt did keep the severed head of one of Vlad's generals, probably on display for his populace to see. One of the most stubborn legends throughout the literature has to do with the skull. It is purported that if the body of the captain were ever made whole, the army would arise renewed from the dust of the battlefield to resume its reign of terror and blood. Naturally it is believed that this is why Vlad has kept a low profile. He has been searching for the skull ever since."

"To resurrect his army?" Myles took a hasty step backwards from the nearest dead warrior and swallowed quickly. "There must be tens of thousands of soldiers here."

"Probably closer to a hundred thousand," Willow remarked casually.

Myles squeaked. "So if Dracula ever finds the skull we're going to have a hundred thousand blood thirsty medieval soldiers running all over Europe!"

"Don't be ridiculous. The battle occurred of course, but the rest…the un-dead Captain and the resurrection of the entire army, is all a load of piffle," Willow announced resolutely, she turned to see Myles still looking apprehensive and she continued. "You can't possibly resurrect an entire army, no one can. Why, it's hard enough to resurrect one…."

Willow found herself tongue tied, unable to finish the rest of her simple sentence. She found herself looking down at the back of her hand - at her own flesh. She wondered if this really was the first body that had encased her soul.

"It's hard enough to resurrect just one person," she finished quietly.

"But Dracula's looking for the skull?" Alex ventured, interrupting Willow's thoughts.

"Well, he's obviously pretty damned incompetent if it has taken him over 400 years to not find it." Willow snorted mockingly, doing her best to forget the uncomfortable speculations playing havoc with her mind.

Myles squeaked again. "But you just said it was all a load of…piffle!"

"Please Myles, you're embarrassing me." Willow turned her back on the trembling young man and resumed staring out over the expanse in front of them. "Dracula, if he's even still out there after all this time, is just another vampire more concerned with avoiding agents like Faith than finding non-existent skulls, trust me, he's nothing to fear."

"Faith isn't here," Myles whispered.

"But Alex is." Willow reminded him of their guide's self-proclaimed prowess…even though she had yet to see him in action.

Her already shaky confidence in their guide was further eroded when she noticed that Alex was staring at the body at his feet as though trying to work out exactly what he could safely remove as a souvenir….or to cart away from the battlefield and sell. Willow almost hoped that there was some curse laid on the bodies so that if Alex did indeed remove their weapons or armour something awful would befall him. She sighed, knowing from her extensive readings on the subjects that curses always seemed to attach themselves to an entire party…regardless of exactly which individual was to blame.

"That's right, sonny boy," Alex momentarily drew his attention away from the souvenirs when he saw Willow's angry glare. Instead he reached out and tousled Myles hair in a patronising manner.

Myles scowled, his fear forgotten as he moved away from Alex. He squared his shoulders manfully, determined to show the same amount of backbone in front of the dead warriors as he had standing up to Alex in Willow's defence.

While both men were still glaring at each other, they had not noticed Willow moving out further onto the field of battle. She was digging around in her bag and triumphantly pulled out a pad of note paper and a well worn pencil.

"No, we've come all this way so I'm going to take a look around," Willow announced decisively, stepping directly over yet another skeleton. "I feel as though there are answers to be found here...and I love answers!"

Myles and Alex watched as the intrepid researcher set off into the heart of the battlefield with a dreamy expression on her face, writing pad in hand, already madly scribbling notes with her pencil. Both men wore identical expressions of disbelief mingled with apprehension. Disbelief at the sight of Willow marching off alone into one of the most depressing and horrifying places they could imagine and apprehension at the thought of actually having to follow her.

"You know, I would have never taken this job on if Croft was honest about one thing," Alex muttered.

"And what's that?" Myles asked still staring at Willow's back, his dislike of Alex momentarily forgotten.

"That Miss Rosenberg is as mad as a hatter."


	12. Heart of a Lion

**CHAPTER 12  
Heart of a Lion**

Although Tara could barely see the small shape in the distance as it moved around the battlefield, she could picture Willow's rapt expression as clearly as if she were standing right next to her. She scribbled notes on her pad or crouched to examine something on the ground that interested her. As always when she was watching Willow from afar, Tara found she could not relax. She was always poised on the edge of springing into action.

Here, in this place, it was all the more imperative that she remain focused and not lose herself to nostalgic thoughts as she was prone to do. Tara felt a slight chill run down her spine as she gazed out over the Covasna battlefield. It was the last place she had ever wanted to see again. Even just looking at the dead inhabitants from a distance made her ill. The battlefield dredged up the one memory she needed to suppress in order to be able to face each day. She felt like closing her eyes and shutting out the place but she knew she would not be doing her job. Instead she kept her gaze fixed determinedly on Willow and that was part of the problem in the first place.

It was plainly obvious to Tara that the redhead did not actually remember visiting Covasna or the events that happened over one hundred years earlier. She moved about the battlefield as though the place was one life-sized book - the characters taking on physical form for her enlightenment and research. There was none of the revulsion or fear that would have clouded Tara's own movements out in the middle of that place.

For a moment Tara was relieved Willow didn't remember what had happened to her here. She already knew that any remembering of those events would be traumatic. It would also undoubtedly be the end of the awkward, hesitant relationship that she had managed to re-kindle with Willow. Yet at the same time she knew that Willow had to remember. In bringing her to this place Tara hoped to rekindle a spark of something, anything of her former life. If any place could do that to Willow, it would be the field upon which she died.

Tara's skin crawled as she sensed another presence join her in her vigil on the end of the battlefield. She did not need to turn around, the foul sensation she felt in her gut told her exactly who it was and she had to make a supreme effort to suppress the anger she felt at his interference.

"You did not need to come," Tara said coldly through gritted teeth. She left unspoken the other thoughts that were running through her head. First and foremost, that he would ruin everything by deviating from the plan. "I have everything in hand."

"I have absolutely no doubt that you do, Tara."

Tara could hear the thinly veiled sarcasm in his reply but did not let it affect the blank expression she maintained on her face. She turned to face her companion and she knew that he was searching for some form of weakness, the slightest twinge of her lips that would give away her feelings for Willow and would lead him to further suspect that she had an agenda different from his own.

"Never have you been one for tact or subtlety, Angelus. I am simply concerned that your presence will upset the delicate order of things," Tara spoke, inwardly pleased as his own expression changed to one of mild fury. He had never been as adept at masking his inner emotions, especially his anger. "The master himself charged me with this task and I alone will see that it is carried out. I do not need help from you or William or any of your moronic sycophants."

She refocused her gaze on Willow who had not seemed to move from the last moment she had saw her. Already she was irritated that Angelus had managed to distract from the task at hand, too much hinged on events progressing in a natural order.

"A state of affairs that you know I fought hard to rectify," Angelus growled in reply. "I was disappointed that he did not favour my approach, one that no doubt would have yielded results far more swiftly than your pathetically soft-hearted tactics!"

"Because he is far wiser than you." Tara had not intended to bate him, especially considering she knew just how dangerous he was.

"Bah!" Angelus roared in disgust. "You did me further disservice in rendering me your messenger boy."

"Disservice?" Tara arched an eyebrow. "I thought it was trust. I knew how difficult it would be for you to stand in her presence and not be able to lay even so much as a finger on her."

Tara heard him pacing in the undergrowth behind her. She heard fallen branches snap beneath the pressure of his boots as they thudded down into the earth with the force of his anger.

"Difficult!" Angelus' voice was tight with the effort it required him to keep his temper in check. "It was almost impossible to stand in front of that little wretch and not rip her head off - especially given her current state in which she knows absolutely nothing, she's helpless. I'm amazed she's managed to travel this far."

"Did she recognise you?" Tara kept her voice under control.

Angelus was silent for several moments before replying. "I smelt her fear…but it was not fear brought about by recognition, familiarity perhaps…but nothing more. We exchanged very few words and I removed myself from her presence almost immediately after giving her the map. To stand there, in front of the woman who killed so many of our kind and appear to be helping her. Even you would have to appreciate the irony of the situation."

"I appreciate your restraint," was all Tara said in reply.

She could hear Angelus grinding his teeth as he continued to pace. As she tried to ignore him and concentrate on Willow, a tiny thought began to tug at the back of her mind. If conceived through to fruition, it was an idea that would undoubtedly lead to the removal of the thorn in her foot.

Tara wondered if their master would notice Angelus' disappearance.

* * *

As Willow was in her element, moving further and further out into the battlefield, Myles and Alex continued to watch her from what they considered to be a safe distance. Myles shifted awkwardly on his feet, while he had no desire to follow her out amidst those piles of bones, he did not think he was discharging his duty very effectively by not being at Willow's side. Just as he was about to suggest this to Alex, both men heard the clattering of hooves on hard ground. They spun to see the horses Myles had left untied bolting.

"God dang it!" Alex slammed the palm of his hand against his thigh as he saw the beast's tails disappearing in the distance, back down the trail the way they had come. He pointed a firm finger at Myles. "You stay with her, don't let her out of your sight. I'm going to get those bloody animals!"

Myles watched rather hopelessly as Alex turned and broke into a run; soon he too had disappeared back down the mountain. He turned and looked at Willow, now some distance away from him, still moving slowly around the battlefield taking her notes. With a sigh, he started walking towards her, careful not to step on any dead men as he went.

"Isn't this all particularly fascinating, Myles?" Willow said enthusiastically as she heard footsteps behind her.

"Ah, W-Willow…"

Myles reply sounded much further away than his footsteps and she spun to see that she had not been addressing him at all. The young man stood some metres away from her, while in front of her was a tall dark haired man with pale skin. Willow's jaw dropped in recognition.

"You gave me the map."

He only had time to smile before a second person morphed into being at his side. Willow also recognised this next shape. It was Tara Maclay. Her heart immediately skipped a few beats. Tara's expression was stern and her gaze directed towards the dark-haired man. Willow looked back and forth between the man and woman and her initial suspicions were confirmed. The stranger who had given her the map was indeed a vampire and he too was standing in broad daylight.

"What is it with vampires these days?" Willow snapped in an exasperated voice. She completely ignored the fact that they were merciless demons and she ought to be running for her life. "Can you all walk around whenever you please?"

Tara did not break into a smile. Her expression remained serious, almost angry but Angelus laughed openly.

"Adorable as ever, isn't she, Tara?" Angelus reached out and linked his arm with Tara's. Willow was pleased to see her jerk it away immediately. "You see Willow…some of us are older and more powerful than others, we are not bound by the same constraints as some of the weaker members of our race."

"Some of us are indeed more powerful than others," Tara gave her companion a pointed look. "Some of us are also wiser…and know when we are overstepping the mark. Don't we, Angelus."

Willow could sense the tension that radiated between Angelus and Tara but she did not go as far as too sense danger. Somehow she knew that Tara would continue to protect her as she already seemed to do. Myles on the other hand was not convinced and he was eyeing up a rusted battle axe lying at his feet. Willow gave him a furious shake of her head to indicate he was not to try anything foolish.

"These times call for different methods, our time is running out, we need the skull and that scrawny little human knows where it is!" Angelus growled, turning to give Willow the force full of his baleful stare.

"What skull?" Willow squeaked, shrinking back slightly, she glanced down at a nearby skeleton and saw his toothy grin. "There are thousands of skulls here, I'm sure these chaps won't miss one or two!"

Tara stepped between Willow and Angelus, her patience wearing thin as he refused to bow to her authority. "Threatening the girl will not deliver what we need!"

Willow glanced at Tara with a confused expression. "What we need? I say, what exactly is going on here?"

Angelus ignored Willow's question and expressed his frustration as a roar, baring his fangs as he did so. Both Myles and Willow stumbled backwards with frightened yelps; however his fury in this instance was directed solely towards Tara.

"As your elder I hereby remove your rights to watch over our master's interests in this matter!" His tone backed his words, deep and full of authority. "Your head is clouded with impure, irrelevant thoughts. When I explain this to him, he will realise his mistake and accept that my actions are the best course of action. We need to get this information out of her. We are running out of time!"

Tara's face morphed into a mask of pure fury to match that shown by Angelus. So fearsome was her countenance that both Willow and Myles had to take yet another step backwards. Despite being physically shorter than Angelus, in her wrath Tara seemed to tower over him. Angelus would not back down. He faced Tara eye to eye.

"We will do this my way!" she growled firmly.

Angelus pointed his finger directly at Willow. "The red-headed whore knows where it is, that bastard of a brother told her and I'm going to get it out of her my way!"

"Angelus please, Abraham has been dead for decade. How could he have told her himself? Tara backed off slightly, trying to reason with him.

"I don't know…but I know exactly how I can get it out of her." His eyes flicked to Willow, with a flourish he drew the sword he carried and for an awful moment Tara thought he was going to strike Willow, instead he levelled the sword directly at Tara's neck. "I know what you are…but I also know that decapitation troubles you just as much as the rest of us."

"No!"

Before Tara could say a word she saw a flash of red hair between her and Angelus.

"Willow, no!" She reached out towards Willow, intent on pulling her back.

Before she could reach the young woman, Angelus lashed out. His mighty hand struck her a glancing blow. Willow was tossed aside as easily as a rag doll with his powerful shove; she stumbled backwards and tripped over a thigh bone before she could arrest herself. Her arms wind-milled futilely before she fell, landing on her back across an armoured skeleton. The skeleton immediately crumbled beneath her weight but the awful sound Willow heard was not the shattering of bones and rusted armour but instead the tearing of flesh and fabric. She lay on her back, immediately feeling foolish at her rather clumsy manoeuvre and tried to think of an offhand quip to conceal her embarrassment. When no words came to mind she tried to spring back to her feet only to feel a searing pain across her entire torso that radiated throughout the rest of her body. She awkwardly glanced up to the figures standing above her to find twisted expressions on their faces. Even the vampire Angelus appeared surprised - perhaps even horrified.

Willow furrowed her brow as she lifted her chin slightly to see a foreign object protruding from her chest, somewhere just above her left breast. She tried to bring her eyes into focus to work out what it was and why it was there but could not hold her head up any longer. It took every ounce of strength she had to reach up with her right hand and try and touch it. She felt a pitted, rough object surrounded by an awful dampness, when she lifted her fingers in front of her eyes all she could see was bright red blood. It dripped from her fingers and ran down her wrist. As it fell, she continued to watch with some sort of morbid fascination, marvelling at just how red blood actually was.

While Willow herself felt as though each of her movements took an eternity, mere seconds had passed since she had fallen and those left standing had now only just begun to react to the horribly unfortunate accident.

Tara had been moving to help Willow back to her feet while throwing a tense glare over her shoulder at Angelus. She saw the surprise on his face and her gaze darted back to Willow to see immediately what had Angelus' attention. Her lips moved wordlessly as she cursed the fates for being so cruel. Willow had fallen onto a centuries old sword, it had slain the warrior beneath Willow and now it's rusted and broken length was protruding from her chest.

Tara whirled on Angelus, a heart's breath away from burning him to a crisp where he stood. "You fool! We need her alive, not dead!"

She dragged herself back under control and fell at Willow's side, now seeing nothing except the redhead lying as pale as a sheet beneath her.

Behind her, Angelus took several steps backwards, away from Tara and the dying human. "I did not intend..." He shook his head several times before he was unable to face the scene before him any longer. Angelus turned and fled, shoving past Myles before he disappeared into a dark mist. The mist hung above the battlefield for a moment before fleeing into the forest.

Tara did not notice Angelus leaving; she only had eyes for the dreadfully wounded Willow. She lowered her gaze to meet Willow's as hot tears ran down her cheeks, her heart breaking at the sight of the rusted weapon that had broken Willow's flesh and the shattered bones that lay scattered around her.

"You silly child!" she sobbed loudly. "What on earth did you think you were doing?"

Willow reached up and awkwardly brushed Tara's pale cheek, leaving behind a smear of blood as her fingers fell, she whispered. "I was protecting you."

"You don't even know who I am," Tara whispered, catching Willow's hand and holding it tenderly to her lips.

"Yes…I do," Willow heaved with a tiny, spluttering cough. "Y-you're the woman of my dreams."

Tara knew she had to pull herself together but the sight of Willow again lying bloodied on the field at Covasna was too much for her to accept. She crumpled over the redhead's body, cradling her head in her hands as she wept with great, heaving sobs. The helplessness that overwhelmed her was almost complete, each of Willow's tiny gasps for breath only served to drive the sword further into her own heart. Tara did not hear the urgent footsteps behind her, then someone was shaking her roughly by the shoulders, forcing her to straighten up, she turned to see the boy standing above her, his own face white with fear and concern.

"Don't just sit there crying!" Myles pleaded, he dashed away the tears stinging his own eyes. "Please help her!"

The boy's urgent words drew Tara out of her despair. She felt wretched at her own helplessness and the fact that it took a human and a mere boy at that to jolt her to her senses. "Come here and take off your shirt," Tara demanded coldly.

"What?" Myles asked numbly, stumbling forward to stand beside the female vampire.

"Your shirt!" Tara repeated. "We need something to pack against the wound when I get this sword out of her.

"Oh," Myles nodded dumbly, throwing off his jacket first and laying it down on the ground beside Willow. He then tore of his shirt, not even bothering to undo the buttons and deftly shredded it in two.

"You'll have to help me here," Tara seized the scraps of fabric that had once been Myles's shirt and motioned him onto the other side of Willow's body. "I'm going to try and break the top of the sword off and then we'll lift her up…there will be blood, and lots of it, are you going to faint on me boy?"

Myles shook his head, the pallor of his cheeks suggesting otherwise. "No ma'am…and it is Myles."

Tara nodded curtly and turned her attention to Willow, who was by now even whiter as though all the blood had drained from her entire body. She reached out tendering and brushed the tangled strands of hair out of Willow's eyes.

"Willow…we're going to have to get this thing out."

"I heard you," Willow interrupted in a tiny whisper. "I trust you."

With trembling fingers Tara reached out and grasped the rusty sword just above the wound with one hand, holding it firmly, she told a hold of it with the other and prepared to snap it. The metal was already weakened from lying exposed to the elements and it snapped effortlessly as Tara applied her inhuman strength. Simple and effortless as it was, Willow cried out in pain, more blood gushing from her wound. Tara looked at the bloodied shard in her hand for a second and then threw it aside with another angry curse at the cruel fates.

"Boy…Myles, I need you to help me lift her, one quick movement," Tara commanded, placing her arms beneath Willow's body, she hated to see the redhead wince in pain as she did so but nor could she leave her with the rusted sword in her body. "Lift!"

Tara and Myles lifted together, both hearing the awful rasping sound the sword made as it withdrew from Willow's flesh. The wounded girl cried out just once as she was lifted, a strangled, wailing cry that brought tears to Tara's eyes. She lifted her into a sitting position and deftly used the pieces of Myles's shirt to staunch the blood that soaked Willow's back. Then, cradling the shaking girl against her body, she wound a length around Willow's chest to hold the pieces in place. Already her blood was soaking through the makeshift white dressings.

Myles crouched in the dirt next to Tara, waiting to spring into action at her next command but as the seconds ticked by nothing happened. The vampire remained cradling Willow's trembling body against her own, her cheek pressed against her head, eyes closed with a thin trail of tears snaking from beneath the lids. Willow was deathly pale, her entire body trembling as though she had a chill. When Myles reached out and touched Willow's limp hand, he found it icy cold. He looked up at Tara urgently, willing her back into action and out of this funk she seemed to have slipped into once more.

"What next?" he prodded insistently. "Shouldn't we cauterize the wound or something? Stop the bleeding?"

Tara's eyes peeled open to look at Myles but she remained holding Willow instead of moving to put Myles's suggestion into effect. "I would, but I fear that rusted flakes from the sword have broken off in the wound. If I seal it, the wound will fester and she'll die - slowly and painfully."

Myles's mouth worked soundlessly, a sign of his frustration at being helpless as Willow grew weaker and weaker in front of his eyes. "What are you going to do then?" he demanded of the woman, knowing that they could not just sit back and let her die, especially not when she obviously meant so much to both of them.

"I don't know!" Tara snapped in reply, her own frustration manifested in anger. "There's nothing I can do, I can't help her…not as I am. I cannot heal. I can only kill!"

Frowning, Myles did not understand what she was trying to explain…all he knew was that Willow was running out of time. As he crouched, his fingers drumming urgently against the dirt in front of him, he saw the vampire look up sharply and study him through her cold blue eyes as though she were sizing him up for some purpose. He met her gaze steadily, despite the fact that she made him decidedly uncomfortable.

"How old are you?" she demanded abruptly.

"Ma'am?" Myles was taken aback at the odd question - odd in their current circumstances at least, and coming from a vampire but he saw a flicker of hope in her eyes and he replied, "I'm sixteen and a half, ma'am."

The tiny flicker of hope was extinguished almost as soon as it had appeared and Tara's shoulders sagged, she whispered in a broken voice, "Too young…using you as a conduit will undoubtedly be fatal."

Myles's still didn't understand exactly what Tara was saying but there was one concept he could pick up on. "There's a way I can help Willow?"

Tara looked at the eager expression on the young man's face and knew that he would be prepared to go to any lengths to save Willow's life; she suspected that he would indeed die for her. This didn't surprise her at all; she had always known that Willow was the sort of person that would inspire people to do something like that for her. She was an inscrutably good person, and the last thing she deserved was to die in such a futile manner. For a full moment she allowed herself to consider using the young man, taking his life to save Willow's. She justified the thought with the fact that he was willing…but eventually came to the decision that she could not do it, not even to save Willow's life.

"No, Myles," Tara replied softly.

"Don't," a tiny, weak voice whispered defiantly in her ear. "No one will die for m-me."

Tara couldn't resist a pained smile at Willow's defiance; her brave words did succeed in reviving her somewhat, breaking her out of the despair she had felt and she looked back in the direction of the forest with some degree of hope.

"Will, dearest, I'm going to lie you down," Tara explained, she felt Willow's head jerk in a weak nod and she gently brought her down to rest atop Myles's jacket. As she looked down at her, she saw the shirt was soaked completely through, stained with the blood that was seeping from her body. She forced her gaze away and looked to Myles. "There are plants which I can use to pack the wound. Perhaps they may have the effect of cleaning it…" It was an interim measure at best. Tara knew that there were no plants that could restore the amount of blood Willow had lost. "You stay here, try and light a fire."

Myles nodded as Tara rose swiftly to her feet, throwing off her coat as she did so. She laid it the length of Willow's body while Myles was already up and moving towards the few bare trees that had managed to take route in the midst of such death. She cast one last look down at Willow, her face stark white against the black of the coat, before turning to make her way towards the forest.

No sooner had Tara turned around than she felt a solid weight slam into her body, she was knocked to the ground and landed hard with the weight still atop her. She found herself gazing up into the furious expression of Willow's brown haired friend, Faith. There was a hastily carved stake clutched in her fist, raised above her head as though she were just about to plunge it into Tara's heart.

"What the bloody hell have you done to Willow, you bitch!" Faith was breathing heavily, exhaustion hidden beneath the intensity on her face. "Speak now or you're dust!"

"I'm trying to save her life!" Tara replied quickly, keeping one eye firmly fixed on the stake which could end everything in seconds.

Behind them both, Myles had spun at the sound of raised voices and his eyes widened when he saw Faith had joined them. Although her appearance seemed nothing short of miraculous, she was about to destroy the vampire that was working to save Willow's life. He dropped the small armload of sticks he carried and ran at the pair of women, intent on grabbing Faith's attention before she made a horrible mistake.

"She's a friend!" Myles yelled, no quite sure why he was waving his arms but it seemed to grab Faith's attention, he was gasping for breath as he drew up beside her and he had to wait a few seconds before continuing, "Please…don't stake her."

Faith glanced from Myles back down to the woman lying flat on her back beneath her and finally to the deathly pale body lying just behind them. With the stake still clutched in her fist, she slowly drew back and allowed the vampire to stand. Both women kept each other in view throughout their movements. Faith's eyes were narrow with suspicion even as Tara kept glancing worriedly at Willow as though she expected the redhead to breathe her last at any moment.

Meanwhile Myles, pleased enough with himself at having successfully averted an unwanted vampire dusting, was now looking at Faith as though he were sizing her up for something.

"Excuse me, ma'am," he awkwardly managed to attract Tara's attention, cheeks reddening somewhat as she turned to look at him. "You said something about me being too young to help Willow…what about Faith, she's old enough right…being that she is pretty old?"

In any other circumstance, Faith would have taken umbrage at Myles's impertinent remark, as it was she heard the words 'help Willow' and her attention was fully focused. Tara too studied Faith as Myles had, as though she were sizing her up.

Tara nodded curtly. "You look strong. I think I can use you if you're willing."

"If it will help Willow of course I'm bloody well willing," Faith shot back. "I haven't tracked you all the way here just to stand back and watch her die…just tell me what the hell I have to do."

"Strictly speaking, you do not have to do anything, but I need you to act as a conduit between the two of us…Willow and I," Tara was already rolling back the sleeves of her black dress as she regarded Faith calmly. "I can do magicks."

"So you can heal her?" Faith interrupted, un-phased by the mention of the word 'magicks,' in her line of work, it was hardly unknown. "What are you waiting for then, heal her for godssake!"

Tara remained calm as she settled on the ground beside Willow and drew back the coat which covered her body. Willow was barely breathing; the shirt staunching her wound was completely stained with blood. Faith was far from calm however as she joined Tara on the ground next to Willow, her jaw dropping when she saw the bloodied dressings that had been hastily applied to Willow's sagging chest.

Tara continued talking as she carefully but swiftly removed the dressings. "There is light and dark to everything…as someone like you would well know, being a vampire I have nothing but the dark variety within me…"

"Meaning?" Faith's voice had disappeared to a mere croak as Tara uncovered the jagged tear in Willow's pale flesh.

"Meaning I can only destroy, not heal," Tara tossed the bloodied dressings aside and took Faith's hand in her own, she placed it directly atop the wound, "but in using you as a sort of conduit I think I can heal her to some extent…enough to increase her chances of survival."

"What are you waiting for," Faith's expression was twisted into a grimace at the feel of the wound beneath her palm; she was distressed at Willow's complete lack of reaction to her touch.

"This is not going to be pleasant," Tara cautioned, taking Faith's remaining hand. "You will act as a filter for the darkness that resides within me."

"Enough talking, I'm ready," Faith snapped impatiently.

Tara nodded in reply and closed her eyes. Faith did not know whether she ought to follow suit but did so anyway. She tried to block out all external distractions and concentrate solely on what she was touching, Willow's wound with one hand, and Tara's hand with the other. When nothing seemed to be happening she peered through one eye to see Tara's face a mask of serenity as though she too were concentrating intently. Faith quickly squeezed her eye shut once more.

Slowly but surely she felt a distinct warmth transferring from Tara's palm to her own, gradually moving up her arm and across her chest. Faith shivered slightly despite the warmth. In her mind's eye she could now see Willow's wound and just how terrifying close she was to death. The object had very nearly pierced her heart. She watched as tiny particles of rust were cleansed from her flesh, everything which should not be inside Willow's body was stripped away. Slowly but surely the torn flesh and severed vessels began to knit themselves together. Willow's heart began to beat with a steady rhythm.

So far the process was far less intrusive than Faith had at first thought; the sensation was almost pleasant despite the vampire's warning. However, when an indefinable amount of time had passed, Faith began to feel sick to her stomach, her insides started to churn uncomfortably and before long she felt as though she would surely vomit. The images of Willow's wound inside her mind were replaced by a fractured series of moments in time, none making sense to her as she did not recognise the people. The images eventually came so fast that they melded into a blur, only a few moving slowly enough for her to understand. They were mostly faces…none she recognised until she saw that of a redhead she knew all too well.

The images were definitely clearer as though they were complete, cherished memories. Willow. It had to be Willow…and yet there was something about her that Faith knew was not the Willow she knew so well. The Willow she saw in the vampire's mind was confident, vivacious and obviously completely at ease with who she was. There were flashes of sensual, languorous fucking where two sweat-coated bodies were entwined, almost inseparable. The Willow in that embrace was one she had never seen, she made love to the blonde whom Faith was surprised to see was not a vampire at this moment in time.

Those images were gone as quickly as though they had been snatched away, replaced by something altogether terrifying. The images were once again blurry and incomplete, as though they had been determinedly suppressed. What little Faith could make out was of a man, a savage, cruel beast of a man as he raped the woman the vampire had once been. As hard a woman as she was, Faith felt hot tears flow down her cheeks as the woman's cries intruded every corner of her mind.

He was gone, replaced by an all-encompassing blackness that further increased the nausea Faith felt. Although she could feel her legs firmly folded on the hard earth beneath her she felt as though she were falling, her body hurtling through the blackness at speed. She felt her gut heave and she fell forward. Her face hit the dirt and seconds later she vomited, losing her grip on the vampire's hand as she needed both to clutch at her gut. Her mouth was filled with a substance the consistency of tar that tasted vile. When she opened her eyes she saw the ground directly in front of her was covered in a thick, black liquid. She lurched forward again and another spurt erupted from her mouth. Behind her she heard the vampire moving but she did not care what she was doing, all she cared about was cleansing herself of the stuff inside her body.

She heard the vampire breathe a sigh of relief and whisper two words. "Thank god."

Faith tuned slightly, wondering why in hell the vampire could breathe a sigh of relief at all…and why she was thanking an entity that she ought to be cursing. Then there was her relationship with Willow which also defied explanation and all common sense.

"Who are you?" Faith whispered seconds before she slipped into unconsciousness and fell face first into the dirt at Tara's side.

* * *

Several hours later, with darkness well and truly settled, Faith finally woke from her exhausted slumber. She sensed a presence nearby and knew instinctively that it was the vampire. Even before her eyes fluttered open she was asking about Willow.

"Will she live?" Faith croaked, still tasting the residue of the tar-like substance in her mouth.

Tara knelt in the dirt next to Faith and tenderly examined the brunette for any sign of affect effects from the spell. It appeared to have taken a lot out of her but other than being exhausted, she was fine. As Faith's eyes opened, Tara pointed a finger in the direction of a small shape bundled beneath blankets not too far away from her.

"Much of her strength has fled her body…but she will now be able to survive the journey down the mountain," Tara intoned quietly. "The wound is clean and I was also able to begin the healing process before you passed out."

"Thank god," Faith said with all sincerity in her voice, with Willow safe she turned her attention to the hollow feeling n the pit of her stomach, an aroma of something strong was making her mouth water. "I'm starving…"

Tara inclined her head towards the haunch of what looked like some sort of deer roasting on a spit above the fire. Myles gave her a little wave from where he was tending it. Faith sat up slightly, propping herself up on her elbows as she eyed the hunk of roasting meat.

"How the hell did you kill that?" Faith asked in a voice torn between scepticism and amazement.

Tara arched an eyebrow as if to ask how Faith could even doubt her skill as a huntress. She settled back on her haunches and watched the other woman peel the blankets away from her body and lift herself into a sitting position. Her movements were slow, as though she were testing the strength in her body, but Tara could tell that she had recovered quickly despite the traumatic experience of being used as a conduit.

"I know you just saved Willow's life," Faith said as she unfolded her body in a cat-like stretch. "But what is your business with her, vampire?"

"My business with Willow," Tara repeated Faith's words, drawing out the words as one would if they were reluctant to divulge a plan. "My business with Willow is my own concern, suffice to say it is vital."

"Vital to what?" Faith growled. She was annoyed at being continually kept in the dark, first by Lara and now by this vampire who seemed to be the perfect antithesis to the rest of her kind.

Killing vampires was one of Faith's favourite pastimes due to the immense variety of methods available to dispatch the creatures, killing this one was still an option regardless of her twisted relationship with Willow.

"Vital to the fate of millions of people across Europe," Tara added simply.

Faith raised her eyebrows. "Willow has to save millions of people? That Willow over there, snoring like a train. The Willow that would much sooner read a book about a demon than actually meet one face to face, the one that couldn't save herself let alone millions of people?"

Tara nodded, smiling a little at the mention of some of Willow's traits. "Yes…that Willow."

"Does she know this?" Faith demanded, her voice betraying her concern for her friend.

"Not yet."

"But she will?" Faith interrupted. "Because the sooner someone tells Willow and I what the hell is going on around here the sooner we can start trying to keep ourselves safe! How the hell can I protect her if I don't know what she's up against…and then you come swooping in with your bloody condescending manner, seeming to know everything and refusing to tell the people that actually matter what the hell you're doing…and why in hell do you have images of fucking Willow in that twisted mind of yours?"

Tara could hardly fail to notice the protective intent behind Faith's words. She had already proven earlier the strength of her love for Willow. It was now written very plainly on her face as stared right back at Tara, her gaze challenging and direct, demanding that Tara explain herself. Such was the intensity of it, that it was Tara who had to break away first…although this was also due in part to the speculations that were running unchecked through her mind as to the true nature of Faith's friendship with Willow. While she had not observed anything pass between the two that confirmed such speculations, it was a distinct possibility that Faith's feelings for Willow went beyond that of friendship.

Tara smiled sadly, for all her watching and longing, she had always known that she could never reclaim what she had once shared with Willow. Even had Willow wanted it, as she had the night she was drunk, Tara would have denied her…there was no doubt that the denial would be difficult of course, but Tara knew she could not bring herself to do that to Willow.

She met Faith's gaze once more, the smile disappeared from her face. "The images mean nothing. You will start down the mountain tomorrow at first light, I cannot stay at your side but I will be watching over you…please take care of her."

"Wait…where are you-" No sooner had Faith started speaking, Tara was gone…she simply disappeared.

Faith sprang to her feet and looked across at Myles, although he had clearly been much too intent on shoving a hunk of venison into his mouth to notice Tara leaving.

"Where'd she go?" he asked a moment later, struggling to get his words out around his chewing jaws.

Tara watched as Faith shrugged in reply to the young man. Of course there was no way that she could see the fine dark mist of her non-corporeal form in the blackness.

Faith's attention was quickly drawn away however as she saw a shape emerging from the darkness, it was Alex leading two horses. The man was a mess, caked in mud from head to toe, a bleeding scratch running the length of his cheek. His eyes widened when he saw Faith and even further when he saw Willow lying pale beneath her blankets.

"What the hell happened here?"

"A better question would be where the hell you were Alex Harris? I told Lara I didn't trust you to protect her, and as luck would have it I was right!" Faith fired back, her strength returning as she was fuelled by anger.

Unseen, Tara left the pair of humans to their argument, she lingered over Willow for but a moment before she was gone, once again resuming her role as an unseen protector, although she knew that after the events of this fateful day, her role would never be the same again.

* * *

_Willow found herself standing on the battlefield at Covasna, it was in the dead of night and a wild wind whipped her hair about her face. Somewhere in the distance she heard the rumble of thunder. She remembered standing in the same place with Myles and the vampires, Angelus and Tara but she was alone now. Alone save for the thousands upon thousands of dead men littering the field, only illuminated with a flash of bright lightning. The rumbling thunder followed, closer now. The rain it heralded began to pelt down, a few drops at first and then a massive sheet of water followed with little warning. Willow glanced down at her own, already soaked body and saw a dark stain spreading outwards from her chest. Protruding from the middle of the stain was the point of a sword. _

_Another lightning flash, Willow looked up to see herself surrounded by dark shapes. The following thunder shook the ground beneath her feet. _

_The next sheet of lightning was so bright it hurt her eyes but at the same time she saw the dark shapes were the warriors of Covasna. They were no longer fleshless skeletons but breathing, walking men. _

_Willow was again shrouded in darkness but she could hear the breaths of thousands pounding in her ears. _

Without warning, the sword that had been rammed through her body was withdrawn in one smooth movement and she fell forward into the mud at her feet…still hearing the breathing in her ears, coming closer and closer.

Willow woke. Gasping for air with short, urgent breaths, she clutched at her chest and found the heavy bindings covering her wound. She winced slightly with the pressure and found that she could not lift herself from the bed in which she lay. Her eyes darted around the darkened room but wherever she was, it was alien and unfamiliar.

Again she clutched at the wound in her torso but frowned when she realised it was in a different location to where she had been stabbed in her dream. In the dream, the sword had obviously gone straight through her heart while she was now feeling the wound just above her left breast, obviously having narrowly missed her heart. Willow felt that same organ now pounding wildly, sending resulting waves of pain flowing through her body. Everything hurt like hell so she was definitely alive.

She craned her head slightly to take in the entire room and froze with fear at the sight of a dark shape leaning against the wall. It passed when her eyes grew adjusted to the dim shadows and she was able to make out the now familiar long blonde hair. When the figure stepped forward she could also make out her blue eyes as they shone in the darkness. Willow quickly realised the woman's eyes were shining with relief and a small smile tugged at one corner of her lips.

"I would ask how you feel but I would think it obvious," she began lightly.

"Sore," Willow responded, her own voice coming out as a weak croak that sounded strange to her ears.

"That is understandable. You survived a terrible wound and an arduous journey."

"A journey?" Willow squeezed her eyes hut for a moment. "I remember being at Covasna, falling, the blood…and then nothing until now." Willow opened her eyes once more. "Waking up in this room."

"Faith and Myles and that lump of a guide brought you down out of the mountains. You remained asleep for much of it…and you were not lucid when you did wake," Tara explained, having watched almost every moment from afar.

"I don't understand how," Willow said with a tiny frown. "I should have died."

"Yes," Tara replied quietly. She knew full well that if she had not been there and able to use Faith as a healing conduit, Willow would have died before even commencing the journey back to Klausenburg. For all the cruelty of the Fates, they also knew when to pull off a miracle.

"It is hard to believe…at last I will have a scar to match the best of Faith's." Willow found one positive point to note from her horrible wound. "I hope it is impressive."

"You nearly die and you are concerned about a scar?" Tara asked in disbelief.

"Well I've never almost died before, I'm not sure how I should behave," Willow frowned, her small body seeming rather helpless as she lay confined in the bed. "I am grateful of course…to you…to Faith…and Myles. How did I survive?"

"You survived because you and your friend Faith both have hearts of lions." Tara smiled, allowing herself to reach out and cup Willow's cheek briefly before drawing back to avoid further contact. She refused to notice the fact that Willow had leaned into the touch as though she craved it. "Faith seems to be a formidable woman…and a very loyal…" Tara paused for a moment before finishing lamely, "…friend."

"She is!" Willow replied with an enthusiasm that far outstripped her level of strength. "She can be vexing at times but I love her dearly."

_Not half as much as I love you,_ Tara thought with an awful twisting sensation in her gut. At the same time she forced herself into a state of acceptance. Faith was strong; she would protect Willow with her life. However more importantly, Faith was whole and uncorrupted. She herself was a travesty, neither human nor demon. It was a tortured existence that Tara could not share with anyone, not even the woman she knew to be her soul mate.

She watched as Willow fought a losing battle with her exhaustion and knew she ought to leave and let her sleep. The redhead's eyes slid slowly closed despite her valiant efforts to keep them open, her head tilted to one side as she sank back into the pillow. Not wishing to disturb her, Tara moved towards the window. Her movements were reluctant, she wanted nothing more than to remain at Willow's bedside and still be there when she woke if only to see her green eyes again.

"I wish you would stay," Willow whispered, apparently not fully asleep.

"You know I can't, Willow," Tara said, turning her head slightly but not daring to look at Willow lest she give into her wish. "I have things to do…there is one 'friend' in particular whom I must pay a little visit."

Tara's mind turned to thoughts of Angelus, where he would be and what he was doing…and most importantly whether he knew she was coming for him. Willow had almost died; of course he knew she would be coming for him. She entertained no further thoughts of staying with Willow as this new purpose took root in her conscience. This she had to do to keep Willow safe, although she knew full well that the consequences could be severe.

"Answers," Willow pleaded.

Still Tara did not turn around; she moved towards the window and placed a hand on one cold pane, "Read the rest of the diary, Willow, there are enough answers contained within its pages to lead you on the next step of your journey."

"It is naught but…gibberish," Willow protested weakly.

"Try, Willow…you'll find you knew the words all along..." The end of Tara's sentence died away as she gradually dissolved into her misty self and left Willow's room to begin her hunt for Angelus.


	13. The House on Gordon Square

**CHAPTER 13 **  
**The House on Gordon Square**

Tara knew he would not be hiding. Despite her anger, he had no reason whatsoever to fear her. Of the two of them he was by far the stronger, being several hundred years older. He had been present at her turning, he had watched throughout those horrible dark years before Abraham Van Helsing found and imprisoned her. He thought he knew her. However, what Angelus did not know was that she was not afraid of him. There was no way he could possibly comprehend the extent of her love for Willow and the strength which that love gave her. It was the strength to hunt him down like the animal he was.

She did not even need to hunt. Angelus was waiting for her in the back streets of Klausenburg, in a part of town so dark and disused that even the bottom dwellers would not venture there. She sensed his foul stench before she even laid eyes on him, a reek so powerful she almost retched. He had wanted her to find him.

Angelus watched Tara approach from his perch high on a flat rooftop. Her body melded completely into the darkness around her save for her pale face and that long, blonde hair. It seemed to shine even in the absence of moonlight. His mouth twisted into a leer. When he defeated her and she was laid out helpless beneath him, he would take great pleasure in cutting off every strand of those white blonde tresses. Although, and his mouth twisted into a broad smile at his next thought, her hair would provide a useful handhold when he took her brutally. He could hold her hair and force her to keep those blue eyes of hers locked on his as he claimed his right as her elder, a right which she had consistently denied him all these years.

He saw her looking up at him now with that impassive expression which angered him so. There was no respect there. From the moment she had been turned, Tara Maclay had made for a surly, disrespectful vampire, refusing to submit to his authority. Even worse, their Master had claimed her as his favourite and indulged her every whim. Even after she changed into something impure, he still accepted her. It irritated Angelus to no end. If he were Master, then Tara Maclay would not be permitted to continue to exist let alone saunter the streets as she was now, thinking she was so far above him. Angelus snarled, baring his fangs.

"I can smell you from here, Angelus," she said quietly, her voice carrying up to him on the breeze. "No need to breathe on me. Oh...I forgot you can't breathe can you? You undead bastard."

"Come up here and say that," he taunted like the schoolyard bully he must have been as a child.

Tara obliged, climbing up the side of the building effortlessly with her inhuman strength. She sprang lightly from sill to gable and finally onto the roof next to Angelus.

"You don't have to do this, Tara. You know as well as I that Red's injury was an accident."

"Yes, but I also know you would have hurt her given a chance. You wanted to torture the skull's location out of her!" Tara growled, her blue eyes flashing even in the darkness. "How on earth do you think a memory that severely repressed would be able to be retrieved through torture?"

"You'd be amazed at what can be uncovered by using a little pain…if you had the stomach to try it," Angelus circled Tara, not letting his gaze off her for an instant. "But you won't…because that little mortal has got you wrapped around her little finger…and I'm the only one that sees it, even our master is blind to your infatuation. He is ignorant as to your true motives."

"I dare you to say that to his face. He knows I exist only to serve his will," Tara kept her voice calm and level despite his best attempts to rile her. "You are pathetic in your jealousy, Angelus. You know I will have our Master's favour when she gives me the skull using my methods. I should think that in destroying you I will further gain her trust!"

"Destroy me? Ha!" he snorted derisively. "You know you cannot."

Tara arched an eyebrow. "I would dearly love to prove you wrong."

He arched his back, stretching his muscles in preparation. "None of your magic tricks then, bitch!"

"I promise," Tara replied evenly.

He came at her with all the rage and fury he had previously held suppressed in her presence. Beneath the force of his blows, Tara finally realised just how much he hated her, the depth of his resentment towards her for stealing his place in their Master's shrivelled and merciless heart. Even as she matched him blow for blow, replying to each one of his punches with one of her own, she knew that his physical strength far outstripped her own and it would only be a matter of time before he won out.

They danced across the rooftop, both using every inch of its surface, moving off chimneys and railings to leap down on the other, it continued in this vein, with neither managing to get the other into a weaker position. While Angelus was stronger, Tara was faster, always one step ahead of his fists. She watched as he seized an iron railing in his hands and ripped it clean off its mountings. It swung in his grip like a sword. She dodged his first strikes easily but eventually she was not fast enough and the pipe caught her full across the stomach.

Tara doubled over and gasped for air. She had never felt her beating heart to be a weakness that others could exploit but usually she fought far lesser beings, beings that did not know she was something other than a true vampire. Before she could straighten her body, Angelus surged forward and knocked her to the ground with the weight of his body.

As she was laid out beneath him, Tara almost panicked at the feel of his weight atop her body. Just the feel of him dragged up memories long suppressed of another man who had strived to make her entirely his, reducing her to the basest form - merely a vessel for his pleasure to be used and abused as he chose.

Angelus lowered his head and pressed an ear to her chest. Tara could already feel her heart hammering like a train. He paused there, keeping his ear pressed against her chest as he listened to the organ beat wildly.

"Strange," he whispered, remaining still. "I always thought that I would not miss it. If you could live forever would you really care that your heart was not beating?" He lifted his head and stared her in the eye as he waited for his answer.

"If it didn't, I would be just like you." Despite the fear she felt, Tara managed to get the sentence out without a stutter. She had to fight to keep thoughts of her husband from her mind but even so her subconscious insisted on supplanting the face of Edward Walsh onto Angelus. The fear she felt threatened to bubble to the surface but she fought, her entire body trembling with effort. "And I am nothing like you, Angelus."

He grinned, lifting one hand to stroke the hair that clung stubbornly to her face. "But you were once…and you did horrible things. I should know, I was there. Do you want me to remind you, Tara?"

"I was never like you!" Tara cried, her fear giving way to anger. "She never stopped loving me!"

Tara's form suddenly shimmered beneath Angelus and he growled, knowing that when she formed into her misty form it would be very difficult to follow her. With her weight gone from beneath him, his body hit the cobbles beneath him hard. He scrambled to his feet to see her re-forming in the street below him. A laugh escaped his lips, even for the most powerful vampires, it was difficult enough to shapeshift once and one could not do it in quick succession. She had not run far enough by any means. Angelus' own body shimmered and he floated down to join her. When his body reformed there was a broad smile on his face.

"What is this, Tara?" Angelus began striding towards her in a relaxed manner. "You want to run but can't face the label of coward…will you stand and fight after all?"

"I just needed more room," Tara said as she held out her right hand for him to see more clearly.

Angelus watched a flicker of light dance across her palm and recognised it instantly for what it was, his eyes went wide when he realised what she intended. Seconds later the flickering light had become a raging ball of fire hovering just above her palm. Her face was thrown into light and shadow in the face of the fireball and he could see the hellish expression that had twisted her features. At that moment he knew nothing would save him.

"You promised, you whore!" Angelus' voice had raised an octave.

"I lied," Tara growled in a cruel tone, lifting the dancing fireball higher so she could watch him squirm.

"Who do you think you are, Tara?" Angelus screeched as he scrambled to his feet, pointing a trembling finger in her direction. "He did not appoint you his executioner!"

Tara calmly faced his accusation, knowing she had all the time in the world as he could not change into his non-corporeal form so soon after the last change. She knew full well that she would have to answer to their Master for destroying Angelus but it was a risk she was willing to take to see him gone forever. When her ferocious gaze did not waiver, Angelus turned his back on her and ran full tilt, hoping to make it around the corner in front of him before she burnt him to a crisp. Both knew that he would never be fast enough.

"That's right, Angelus," Tara whispered, gaining immense satisfaction from seeing his fleeing back. "Run…for all the good it will do you."

Sweeping forward in a graceful swirl of dark fabric and white blonde hair, Tara launched the fireball at the fleeing vampire. It burst on his back and spread rapidly down the rest of his body…in hindsight Tara thought that perhaps her enjoyment of watching Angelus being reduced to a pile of burning embers would have been heightened had she been able to see the expression on his face as he was destroyed. Still, she did enjoy grinding the weakly burning fragments of what was once Angelus into the cobblestones of the alley beneath the toe of her boot. It was a fitting end for the bastard.

Now she just had to convince her Master it had been the right thing to do.

* * *

Willow shifted uncomfortably in her narrow bed. Her chest protested with even the smallest of movements. She awkwardly tried to fluff the pillows at her back but gave it up as a hopeless task; there weren't enough feathers in the pillow to be fluffed in the first place. She did take some comfort from the narrow bed and hopelessly inadequate pillow; at least she was uncomfortable in her own bed, in her own home. Willow could lie back and gaze at her walls crammed with assorted clippings and artwork and remember why she had saved each one, or drawn that particular sketch. They were hers…all undeniably Willow-orientated. She felt safe in the knowledge that they were a glimpse into who she was. It was her past, a past she could remember.

Throughout her journey back to England, Willow had spent a great deal of time dwelling on her past. Her withdrawn, contemplative state had concerned Faith of course but her friend had wisely given her the space in which to deal with the events at Covasna even though Willow could tell she was struggling to keep her questions at bay. It was only upon her return to England and the musty familiar smell of her own home, that Willow was finally able to clear her mind of the thoughts that had consumed her since her injury. She was no longer struggling to discern her relationship to Tara Maclay or more importantly to Willow Van Helsing, instead she slipped back into the role of Willow Rosenberg, researcher. Her copious notes from Eastern Europe and Covasna were piled upon her bed and littering the floor, completely obscuring her rag rug. She happily buried herself in starting the paper which she would deliver to rapturous applause at the year's Royal Society Conference (In order for this belief to work, Willow had to conveniently forget that she detested public speaking).

Burying herself in her research Willow was also able to forget that she had lost the diary somewhere in her travels. In many ways it was a relief, the last thing she wanted to do was continue reading the damn thing when what she had read had seriously compromised her sanity. On the other hand, she desperately wanted the answers it could provide. Although Willow felt torn between delving deeper into the mystery and retaining her sanity, it was only by being extremely close-minded that she could bring herself to believe that she still had a choice at all.

A knock at a door interrupted her futile pillow fluffing. Whoever it was did not wait for an invitation to enter before swinging the door open, Willow already knew it was Faith. Who else would be quite so rude? Her flat was so tiny she could see the front door very clearly from where she lay in bed.

"I say, Faith," Willow made a half-hearted attempt at being angry at her friend barging in unannounced. "I could have been naked!"

Faith sighed regretfully. "But you're not…damn!"

Willow grinned, unable to remain even half-mad at Faith, especially given that she was so glad to see her. After spending two days alone in her little flat without a soul for company, even a bookish, introverted soul like Willow was bound to long for someone to talk to.

Faith glanced around Willow's tiny flat with barely concealed disapproval on her face. "I know now why I don't visit you at home often. Are you sure it hasn't shrunk since my last visit?"

"Well obviously I should talk to Lara about my earnings; clearly researchers don't get paid as well as Agents!" Willow shot back, rather offended at Faith's criticism of her tiny space in what was a very large world.

Willow immediately noticed that Faith ignored the mention of Lara. If anything, her expression even clouded slightly at the mention of their employer's name. She did not press the issue, knowing that whatever had happen between the two of them, it was none of her affair. The look was gone almost as soon as it had appeared and Faith steered the conversation back towards Willow.

"Why don't you talk to your parents? Surely the Colonel could afford to purchase you a small townhouse?" Faith said as she crossed the tiny kitchen to move into Willow's bedroom.

"Father would purchase me a palace if only I were to marry," Willow sighed grandly, she brightened almost instantly. "But he knows I would throw such an offer in his face if he were to dangle it in front of me. I would rather live in the most squalid tenement than suffer the indignity of a marriage arranged by my parents."

"That's my girl," Faith reached out and gave Willow a playful tap on her shoulder.

"Faith!" Willow cried out as though she were hurt, her expression mortified.

Faith took a hasty step back, holding back the hand she had just tapped Willow with as though it were a dangerous weapon. "I'm sorry Will, I don't realise my own strength sometimes. Did I hurt you terribly?"

"No!" Willow replied in exasperation.

It was then that Faith noticed Willow wasn't looking at her at all. She was staring at the floor by her feet. Faith glanced down to see several sheets of paper beneath her booted feet. She lifted one foot with sheets of paper stubbornly clinging to the sole. Before she could remove them herself, Willow's hand shot out and retrieved her notes.

Perched on the edge of the bed, Willow stared in horror at the smudged ink on one of the sheets. She stared up at Faith as though her friend had just committed murder.

Faith unleashed an apologetic grin as though that were sure to make Willow forget the awful transgression. Willow was not to be appeased so easily and she gingerly hunkered down on the floor to retrieve her papers as though she feared Faith would ruin all of her work.

"Will, don't hurt yourself, I've got them," Faith moved much faster than Willow and was able to scoop up the reminder of the papers before Willow could strain herself. "Did I smudge them terribly?"

Cradling the papers in one hand, Faith assisted Willow back up onto her bed with the other. Her brow furrowed with concern at the sight of Willow's white as a sheet face. The wound had truly taken a toll on her slender friend, Willow lacked the physical strength that she herself had and the road to recovery for her had been long and arduous. As she watched Willow scan her papers for damage, Faith could not forget that it was the strange blonde vampire who was responsible for saving Willow's life. She also could not forget the images she had seen while linked with her. Even though she knew it could not possibly have been the same Willow sitting in front of her now, she still could not look at her in quite the same way.

"Will…this may seem an odd question," Faith began cautiously. "But what exactly is your relationship with the blonde vampire?"

Willow glanced up, the papers on her lap forgotten. "With Tara?"

"Tara?" Faith repeated, she could not fail to notice the way the name rolled off Willow's lips. It was almost a caress…and Willow's black-rimmed eyes sparkled.

Willow nodded. "Tara Maclay, she wrote the diary you found at Tirgsor. Although she was a young woman then."

"As opposed to the blood-sucking demon she is now?" Faith interrupted fiercely, "You have become involved with a dangerous monster, Willow."

"Nothing I can't handle!" Willow replied, she couldn't quite fathom why, but Faith calling Tara a demon or a monster just didn't sit right at all. "Tara has done nothing but protect me…I did not tell you at the time but she saved us both in the graveyard."

Faith raised her eyebrows but she did not let herself get distracted. "Will, you're skirting the issue here. What is your relationship to her?"

Willow looked slightly wounded. "I cannot tell you Faith, mostly because I do not know myself. Suffice to say I think I knew her…in a past life."

Faith snorted loudly, unable to stop herself. "Oh…I think you did more than simply know her!"

Willow frowned innocently at the exceptionally knowing look on Faith's face, "What does that mean?

Faith bit her lip, it was at times like these that she realised how innocent Willow truly was, she regretted her quick words but there was something in Willow's expression that hinted at more than she was letting on and she decided to elaborate, "When I linked with her I saw…well, I don't really know what it was that I saw…but it was disturbing and I think you should be careful around her. In fact, better yet, I suggest that you stay away from her altogether."

Willow tried to keep the heat from rising into her cheeks at Faith's insinuations. The words of the diary were etched into her mind. If Faith had seen half the passion that had been contained within those pages then it was no small wonder that she was asking leading questions.

"The diary…" Willow began, seeking the appropriate words to explain and yet reluctant to even try.

"Oh," Faith turned to rummage in the rucksack she had slung over one shoulder. She retrieved a familiar slender volume and passed it to Willow. "Myles found this in your hotel room in Klausenburg. I believe he has conveniently forgotten to return it to you until now."

This time Willow knew she had failed to keep the heat from colouring her cheeks. At the same time as she accepted the diary from Faith, she ducked her head, letting her hair fall forward over her face to disguise her embarrassment. As impossible as it was, she was beginning to feel as though the diary was a part of her and the events depicted within its pages were part of her life. It was as though Myles had read intimate details of her own life as opposed to someone who had died over a hundred years earlier.

"Will?"

Willow jerked her head upward, hoping her cheeks had cooled somewhat. "What?"

It was then she noticed the moisture shining in her friend's eyes, as though Faith were on the verge of tears. Willow was seriously unnerved, she had never seen Faith show any sort of emotional vulnerability for any reason, for physical or mental pain. She searched through the last few words she had said only to realise that she had said very little of consequence. If she had done anything to hurt Faith, then it would have been in what she did not say.

"Faith…" Willow began hesitantly.

She watched as Faith stood in one swift movement and backed away as though she suddenly realised that she was about to cry. She stopped in the doorway between Willow's bedroom and the kitchen and rested one hand on the doorframe as though she needed the contact to keep herself steady.

"Why is it that no one will tell me what the bloody hell is going on around here?" she growled exasperatedly. "Of all the people in the world I thought you would always be honest with me…and now I find you're just as bad as that two-faced bitch!"

Willow tried to rise as swiftly as Faith had but she was forced to face the fact that she could only manage an awkward stoop, aided by a shaking hand on her iron bedstead. Her expression however said more than her movements, she was confused and hurt. Faith had never turned on her so savagely…and certainly not without good cause.

"In what way am I not being honest with you?" Willow pleaded, the very fact that Faith was mad at her at all was tearing her to pieces. "And what two-faced bitch are you referring to?"

"Croft, you would think if the bitch was fucking me then she could at least cut me in on what she knows!" Faith spat in anger. Willow's jaw immediately hit the floor in shock. "And you, I'm your bloody best friend and you evade the truth like it's a bloody disease!"

Willow had a million adamant refutations running through her mind, she knew full well that she knew little more than Faith and she wanted to explain this to her…but the only concrete thought that she could concentrate on was Faith's relationship with their employer. Although Willow had never been sexually attracted to Faith and she merely ogled Croft in the most innocent way, the revelation both stunned and hurt her.

"You and Lara…" Willow mumbled; her lips barely moving.

Faith glared at Willow for a moment as though she were stupid before turning and making her way towards the exit. Her last words spoken over her shoulder. "I'm going to leave you to your research. Just read your little book and bloody well leave me alone. I don't know what the hell is going on…but I do know enough to know that I don't want to be a part of it."

Willow jumped at the sound of the door slamming behind Faith. She used her white knuckled grip on the bedstead to lower herself back down so she was sitting on the edge of the bed. For all the confusion that she felt over how little she knew about what was going on in her life, she had not even dwelt on the possibility that it also affected Faith as someone who cared about her. The fact that she was in a relationship with Croft had obviously heightened her emotional susceptibility but Willow knew there was something more. Faith had mentioned that Lara knew something…Willow frowned, while Croft always seemed to know just a little bit more than everyone else, this appeared to go beyond that into the realm of withholding vital information. Rather than become frustrated and angry herself, Willow turned her attention to the diary in her hand. Willow thought she ought to make a cup of tea before reading but a part of her did not expect to be able to read the text no matter what Tara said. She opened it half-heartedly and flicked though the pages, past Tara's handwriting and to the heavy, straight backed script she had previously been unable to decipher…

_30__th__ September 1779…_

Willow glanced up and stared at a spot on the wall opposite her in shock, she lowered her gaze back to page in front of her and read again - _30__th__ September 1779_. The words were written as plain as day…only Willow could tell that they weren't, nothing had changed within the text, it still appeared to be in some sort of code with the letters and words scrambled into a meaningless order. However, Willow now found that as she ran her eyes over the text she saw the words clearly formed in her mind. Her tea forgotten, she remained perched on the edge of the bed as she continued reading, her hands shaking as they gripped the diary.

_I write these words with very little enthusiasm, I think that I shall not keep writing as it seems to be an entirely futile endeavour to reflect on that which has passed. No matter what one writes, words cannot change the past. The words written on the previous pages prove that all too undoubtedly. But my mood can hardly be labelled cheerful, the very house in which I sit and write adds to my melancholy, most of the furniture here at Hagley Park is draped with abysmally gloomy dust cloths for we cannot take it with us when we leave here. Abraham and I are leaving Hampshire behind us, his idea rather than mine but I was not adverse to the suggestion. As much as I love Hagley Park and Hampshire, there are too many memories clinging to every surface…I have not even been able to sleep in my own bed these past weeks. Curse this miserable existence, curse my life and that…that woman. I would be far happier if I were dead. What a miserable, wretched creature I am. Tara has married that man and all I am left with is this wretched diary detailing our affair._

_I forced myself to read the words she wrote and they served the purpose she intended, how could they not…to ignore the pain written on these pages would render me as callous and uncaring as that pig Walsh. I certainly have no desire to sink to the level of that cruel, wretched bastard and each time I think of him wed to Tara my eyes burn with a fierce hatred I did not think myself capable of. If I did not have Abraham as a restraining influence I think that I would do something very foolish indeed. _

_For some time following Tara's marriage to that bastard, dying seemed a viable option to ease my pain. I soon found however that my meddlesome brother knew my own thoughts even better than I and was not about to grant me such a simple way out. He detailed servants to follow me at every hour of the day, whenever I turned around there would be the day maid or the parlour maid standing behind me, innocently dusting the same spot over and over. I asked them to leave me alone but they just curtseyed and backed off a few paces as though they had been commanded not to let me out of their sight. The cutlery was kept locked away, even the forks, I could not find a serviceable length of rope…even in the stables and my windows were fastened shut so firmly I could not pry them open with brute force. I knew I could have found a way to kill myself despite Abraham's every precaution but the lengths to which he went to keep me safe made it impossible for me to take such a cowardly route. For all the pain I felt, Abraham loved me and he wanted me to live. _

_For all the love I feel for my brother, I do hate him so. He does not realise that he is condemning me to a joyless, empty existence in this dark, dark world…for there is no joy, nor light without her by my side. I feel ashamed that some tiny amount of solace could come in the form of occasional glimpses as we attend the same functions about London; it is not so big a city that we can avoid one another for the rest of our lives. In response to that thought, I very quickly made up my mind that I would never attend another social function as long as I lived, the thought of seeing Tara from a distance on his arm would be too much for me to stomach, I would be forced to see his cruel leer and perhaps even suffer the absolute humiliation of watching a growing pregnancy…although I knew it already, that would force me to face the fact that her body belonged to him. I cannot bring myself to dwell on such a thought…I cannot and will not-_

Willow paused, the words 'will not' were underlined with a heavy line which had almost pieced the page of the diary, she could feel the pain written in those words.

_-accept that…but I am lying to myself, that bastard probably has his fingers on her body right now. I would like to break every single one of them. I hate him…and I hate her for marrying him…and I know I will hate living in London with its bloody dirty streets and pretentious fat old tarts prowling everywhere and into everyone's business. Just to step out my front door onto Gordon Square will be an exercise in self-restraint._

Dragging her eyes away from the text, Willow hastily flicked to the inner front cover of the diary and re-read the address she had found written there, _Gordon Square, London._ Abraham and Willow Van Helsing had moved from Hagley Park to settle in Gordon Square, London. The townhouse Willow had visited on a whim and left without ever entering some months ago had belonged to the Van Helsings.

"For a genius…I'm so exceptionally stupid!" Willow berated herself sternly.

For all the excitement she felt, there was also a numb terror, she remembered all too well how the house had made her feel upon seeing it…and the distinctly undignified manner in which she had fled after seeing something in one of the dark gable windows. Willow glanced back to the diary in her hand, torn between reading the rest of it and returning to the house with a firm resolve to at least knock on the door.

Willow stood, somewhat swifter this time although she felt a rush of blood to her head as she did so. She did not bother to get dressed; instead she merely pulled a heavy coat over her pyjamas and slipped her feet into a handy pair of slippers. With the diary tucked safely in the pocket of her coat, she made her way out of her flat and out into the broad light of day.

In remaining bedridden for so long, Willow had not realised just how much strength she had lost. Even making it up onto the nearest tram outside her flat took an exhausting amount of effort. She collapsed onto a seat, attracting a number of stares from other passengers who could no doubt see her slippers and pyjama bottoms protruding from beneath her coat. Willow did not care, she kept one hand in her pocket, holding the diary firmly, her heart was beating at a million miles a minute and she felt like she would faint at any moment.

* * *

Sometime later, already needing bed rest, Willow found herself once again standing in front of the imposing townhouse on Gordon Square, the austere façade seeming to have grown even bleaker and darker since she had last seen it. She distinctly remembered seeing light shining from within but now the windows were all dark, everything about the house appeared dead. Willow risked a quick glance up to the attic windows but she saw no terrifying white face staring back down at her. Even so, she approached the massive black door unable to hear anything but the pounding of her own blood in her ears.

Willow had an inkling at the back of her neck that for some reason she did not need to knock at all. She tried the brass knocker at her eye level but found it immovable, as though it were stuck fast to the door. Knocking produced no better results; she could hardly make a sound by pounding on the door with her small fist. There was only one thing left to do, her hand shook at she reached for the heavy brass door knob. More than a part of her wished to find the door firmly locked and barred against entry, however, as her fingers closed over the knob she felt it hum beneath her touch. Yelping in fright, Willow snatched her hand away and took a step back. She looked down at her hand, but apart from the trembling there was nothing out of the ordinary.

"Don't be such a coward, Willow," she whispered to herself, steeling herself to touch the knob once more, "It's just a house, silly."_ Just a house…although, it could be infested with rats, insects, frogs…or it could be just your run of the mill house possession, or unfriendly spirits desperate to keep intruders out…don't forget your line of work Rosenberg!_

Willow paused; anything was possible in her line of work…except perhaps the frogs. She seriously wondered if she should find Faith, apologise for whatever transgression she was supposed to have committed and ask her to visit the house with her. Willow shook her head, she drew in a deep breath and steeled herself for another try at the knob. Even before her fingers touched the brass she was prepared for the shock she felt, she did not snatch her hand away as she felt the gentle vibrations course through her hand and the rest of her body. She now realised that the sensation was not unpleasant, it was almost as though the house itself was welcoming her home.

"Hello to you too," Willow whispered with a firm turn of the knob.

For all its bulk, the black painted door swung easily on its hinges with none of the sinister creaking normally associated with haunted houses. Willow breathed a hesitant sigh of relief at this but paused before stepping over the threshold. She remained still as she waited for her eyes to adjust to the darkness of the entrance lobby.

"Is anyone h-home?" Willow managed to stammer, her voice seeming to disappear before it had even travelled into the house. "Helloooo?"

Willow waited at least a minute, both out of courtesy and the fact she was dead scared. Eventually she accepted that no one was coming to greet her and with a deep breath, took a step over the threshold and into the house. She moved further into the entrance way, buoyed somewhat by the fact that nothing sinister had yet emerged and also by the rather pleasant feeling she felt coursing through her body, increasing with each step she took further into the house. Willow glanced over her shoulder to find the door still open out onto the street, not looking in the least like slamming shut of its own accord. Reaching back to close it gently, Willow felt only a small shiver of fear as shut and she only opened it once to check she wasn't locked in.

With the door shut behind her, Willow felt overly warm in her overcoat. If she had expected to find the empty house chilled and musty, she was mistaken. She drew off her overcoat and found herself comfortable in just her slippers and striped pyjamas. Before leaving the coat hanging on the rack by the door, she retrieved the diary from its pocket and tucked it firmly beneath her arm.

The lobby was much like every townhouse Willow had ever entered. Directly in front of her and rising above her head was a flight of stairs which no doubt travelled up all three floors. The scarlet carpet running up its length appeared fresh and new, with no of the wear marks usually found denoting the well-worn path found up most flights of stairs. Willow glanced up at the landing above but saw nothing but darkness. Ahead of her was a hallway lined with paper in a bold blue Oriental-like print, the detail seeming to make the hallway darker, smaller…and yet rather than give it a claustrophobic atmosphere, it felt warm and inviting. A highly polished hall table sat opposite the flight step, Willow ran her fingers over its surface to find not a trace of dust on the wood or on the handsomely embroidered cloth. Sitting the centre of the table, where one would usually find the telephone in most modern houses was an Attic black figure vase, similar to ones Willow passed by each day at the museum. Beneath her studied gaze, she had no doubt that the amphora was authentic and with a wry smile she wondered whether Abraham Van Helsing had pilfered it from the collections of the British Museum.

Padding along in her slippers, Willow moved past the stairs and to the first door leading off the hallway. A sudden glow caused her to almost leap straight out of her slippers, as it was; she dropped the diary with a dull thud. Before bending to pick it up, she saw that a gaslight set into the wall was suddenly burning brightly, the flame dancing merrily behind its glass housing.

"Okay," Willow whispered, wondering if she had inadvertently flicked a switch as she moved through the hallway, she chose to believe she had even though she had touched nothing except the coat stand.

She slowly opened the door in front of her; it too swung inwards into darkness. Willow waited in the doorway and found the large room beyond partially lit by the dull light creeping beneath the heavy curtains. It was a formal sitting room. The first thing Willow noticed was the massive black marble fireplace that sat directly across the room from her, it's mouth plugged with a brass fire screen, its surface flickering with the reflection of the light that had just lit behind Willow's head. Eerily, most of the furniture in the room was covered by huge white dustsheets…despite the almost complete lack of dust.

Willow had always hated the white sheets; they rendered objects into featureless lumps, concealing what lay beneath. When she had been very small her brother had told her that ghosts lurked beneath, ghosts that would be unleashed if you ever dared to take a peek beneath. She smiled when she remembered James's most terrifying prank, he had once peered beneath a dustsheet in their attic and acted as though something had grabbed him, drawing him beneath the sheet, his pretend screams were easily drowned by Willow's own as she had gone sprinting off to find Giles to help her rescue her brother. They had found James quite intact, perched on a settee, draped in the dust sheet and looking very pleased with himself.

Now the sheets did not scare Willow so, without realising quite what she was doing, she strode across to the nearest one and swept it back with a sharp tug. There was nothing beneath it except a black coloured sofa with plump cushions still waiting for someone to sink against. Willow moved throughout the room, throwing off every dust sheet to reveal the furniture beneath. By the time she was finished uncovering every piece of furniture, she was breathing heavily with exertion and her wound was throbbing in protest at her activity. The room she had revealed was inviting. Several black sofas and ottomans, liberally strewn with white cushions, waited to accept a visiting party of guests. Willow could almost see the thick mahogany table in the centre of the room spread with a china dining service, a pot of tea and a plate of cucumber sandwiches and finger cakes.

There was just one dust sheet remaining in use in the room, it was hung above the fire place and appeared to be covering two large frames. Willow threaded her way through the seating to stand in front of the fireplace. As she tugged this particular dust sheet off, she did feel a chill at what would be revealed beneath.

"Oh my god," Willow stumbled backwards, the backs of her legs hit an ottoman behind her and she went tumbling over the footstool and onto her back. She winced at the contact but kept her gaze above her on the two paintings which she had just uncovered.

Willow scrambled to her feet as fast as her injury would allow and went straight to the high windows. With an urgency that surprised her, she swept back all three pairs of heavy black velvet drapes to let more light into the room. When done, she crept back in front of the paintings, her lips parted in awe.

Both had matching frames of thick, finely worked wood overlaid with gilt, the shine not having dulled despite however much time had passed. The painting on the right was undoubtedly Abraham Van Helsing, although it was a portrait of him most unlike the one Willow passed by every day in the bowels of the British Museum. Willow was hardly a painter herself but she could see that it was done by a fine artist, the oils seeming to bring the man's face to life. He was young, far younger than he had ever been in any portrait Willow had seen previously. There was no facial hair on his smooth, strong jaw-line, nor any grey in his thatch of red hair. His green eyes danced merrily and there was a slight curve to his well-proportioned lips, as though the artist had captured him during a moment of mirth. Now, seeing him in his youth, Willow could see exactly why Faith had so often teased her for having a resemblance to him. The resemblance was made all the more apparent when Willow finally allowed herself to dwell on the painting hanging to the left.

If Willow had ever wondered what she would look like wearing her hair swept up into an elaborate coif atop her head, with her creamy white bosom almost bared to the world, she could now see for herself. It was Willow Van Helsing…and yet she was also Willow Rosenberg.

Willow had to take a seat on the ottoman she had tripped over earlier. As she studied the painting, it was all too like looking into a mirror…although Willow could not quite imagine herself wearing the same expression. The Willow in the painting looked older, and yet Willow knew she had not lived past her twenty-fifth birthday. The expression she wore shared none of the mirth of Abraham, she was sad to the point of appearing tortured and Willow suspected the artist had taken liberties to make her appear more cheerful than she actually was in life. Having read much of the diary, Willow could understand the expression in the face of what had happened to her.

As Willow studied the painting she saw, tucked in one hand, just below her breast, a slender little book. Willow quickly recognised it for she held it in her own hand in the present. Despite Willow Van Helsing writing her first words in the diary with little enthusiasm, it appeared that she valued it enough to be painted holding it. Although Willow could not guess the exact date of the painting, she suspected it was several years after the first entry, possibly just before her death.

Although she had known of her intimate connection to Willow Van Helsing since her dreams had started to mirror the diary, Willow did not know what to make of this latest connection…or if it was more than that. She seriously wondered whether the grave in Hampshire was nothing but an empty façade, and no coffin lay in the cold ground beneath it. Willow's first instinct was whether she was a hell of a lot older than she had always thought.

She dismissed this as impossible, she remembered growing up, they were hazy memories dulled by the passage of time but she remembered her lessons with Giles, sitting patiently at a small desk beside James. Willow remembered her own brother and could not help but wonder in looking at an image of Abraham Van Helsing, if she was seeing the man he would had grown into had he lived.

Unable to remain staring at the paintings any longer, Willow stood and turned her back on them. As she did, she caught a glimpse of a shadow moving out in the lobby beyond the door. Without pausing to give herself time to be afraid, Willow dashed out into the hallway in time to see a pair of white feet padding up the stairs.

"Excuse me!" Willow called, making a beeline for the stairs herself. "I say, do hold up a moment won't you?"

As she sprinted up the stairs, chest already heaving, Willow did not consider her actions. She was following someone or something up a flight of stairs into a dark and empty second storey having no idea where she was being led. Faint footsteps on the stairs above her head told her that someone was definitely there…why they were ignoring her calls, Willow did not know.

Moments later, quite out of breath, Willow emerged in the beginning of the second floor passageway, seeing nothing down its dark length save for faint light emanating from the open door of one of the rooms halfway along its length. It was at this point that Willow chose to exercise a small amount of caution, slowing her pace so her slippers were practically silent on the rug beneath her feet. She inched along the hallway, keeping to one side of the passage and not moving her gaze from the doorway ahead.

Willow paused just beside the doorframe, her entire body tensed, torn between her desire to run away and the desire to enter the room. When she finally managed to do it she did it quickly, practically leaping into the doorway like a maniac. If anything was waiting for her in the room, it would have undoubtedly been caught in the act…but there was nothing there except a room. Willow's arms fell to her sides as the tension drained from her body almost immediately. The room that she found in front of her was nothing like she had been expecting. Unlike the sitting room below, the velvety blue curtains were already open, light spilling through the wide windows to illuminate the surfaces within. Again there was no dust…and nor were there any dust sheets. As Willow entered the room she felt an eerie sense of familiarity, as though she knew that if she opened the topmost drawer of the bureau she would find neatly folded under-things and the second drawer, gloves and stockings. She knew the framed illuminated texts on the walls were authentically medieval without the need to examine them closely. More than anything, she wanted to fold herself beneath the thick, downy blue cover that was spread across the mattress of the massive four-poster bed that took up much of the centre of the room. Willow crossed to the right side of the bed and sat on the very edge, gazing down at the contents of the bedside table. Nestled directly beneath an old fashioned candle holder, was a thick, leather bound book, Willow picked it up and settled it on her lap, _A Treatise on Vampyres._

"Light bedtime reading," she commented as she ran her hands over the tooled leather cover, not daring to open it.

The book had been concealing a small framed portrait; Willow gently plucked it from the table and held it further into the light to see a faded drawing done in thick India ink…Tara. Willow brushed the frame with her thumb; she had hardly expected any other portrait to sit at Willow' Van Helsing's bedside. Already knowing that it would be alright, she tucked the small frame into the breast pocket of her pyjamas. She felt as though she were being watched but as she glanced up, there was no one there. As her eyes roamed the room, she could not look past a tall mirror which ran from floor to ceiling. It was set into a beautifully tooled silver frame. Willow approached from the side and gradually the tiny details in the silverwork became apparent, it was as though it were a life story told in silver. Willow started from the bottom and worked her gaze upwards to see children playing, an 'A' and a 'W' linked, riding ponies, a quill denoted studying and writing, sheaves of parchment were curled as though ready to be written on, two feminine hands entwined, the flanks of a naked woman and the unmistakable curve of a breast. Willow moved in front of the mirror as she neared the top, seeing images of crossbows and swords replace the innocent ones below it and what looked like a Japanese temple and a samurai mask.

As her eyes roamed the entire frame she caught sight of an inscription at the very top and could just make out what it said, _t__u fui, ego eris._

"What you are, I was. What I am, you will be," Willow mouthed the translation.

When Willow jerked her head downwards and met her reflection in the mirror, she blinked rapidly, unsure of what it was she was seeing. While she expected to find her reflection staring back out of the mirror wearing her faded red slippers and striped pyjamas, she found none of these things. The only thing that was correct was the diary she held clasped against her chest. The rest of it was not right…her reflection's hair fell in ringlets down over her shoulders even though she remembered tying her hair back that morning. As she looked down her reflection's body she saw it clad in a long white dress, once again leaving her bosom half bare as what the style of the late eighteenth century. Her white feet were bare. Willow blinked but there was no change in her reflection. She lifted trembling fingers towards the surface of the mirror and was both relieved and unnerved to see the false reflection also lift its arm. Willow stopped short of actually touching the glass. Her fingers poised inches away as though she could not bring herself to make contact.

"It's just a mirror," Willow whispered.

She heard the whispered words issue forth from between her lips but the reflection was silent, the lips did not move save to part a fraction. At that moment Willow knew that it was no reflection she stared at. Her terrified subconscious was urging her to move away from the mirror but not one of her muscles responded. Her hand remained outstretched, hovering next to the mirror.

Her false reflection's cold fingers emerged from the mirrors surface, curling tightly around her own with vice-like fierceness. Willow only had time to utter a small gasp before she found herself swiftly jerked forward. From the moment her body was swallowed by the mirror that was not a mirror she found herself in another time, as a very different Willow.


	14. Painted Black

**CHAPTER 14  
Painted Black**

_August 1779…_

Willow sat staring at the easel standing in front of her; she looked back and forth between the black-dipped paintbrush in her own hand and the single piece of thick paper taped to the surface of the easel. She moved as though in slow motion, replacing the brush on the lip of the easel and studying the half-completed painting sitting in front of her. Thick lines of black paint criss-crossed the surface and formed no discernable image nor followed any set pattern. A small frown marred her features as stared at the painting, there was something not right…not about the painting, but about everything. Willow glanced down at her hands, turning them over as though studying them but they seemed to be her hands. She smoothed her palms over the fabric that covered her legs and gripped it as though to confirm what she touched was real. Even as she was trying to put her finger on what was out of place, she heard heavy footsteps echoing on the wooden floorboards behind her, she swivelled on her ottoman to see a tall red-haired young man, handsomely attired in full military dress, stride into the room. She felt her entire body relax at the mere sight of him_. Abraham._

Abraham smiled at the sight of his sister painting, a lonely figure in an almost bare room. Besides Willow's easel and ottoman, there was just one other chair and a small table. This made the room seem large and his sister exceptionally small and fragile indeed. He was however pleased to see that she was finally wearing a colour other than black. Today she was wearing one of her favourites; a handsome light green day dress with embroidered sleeves. A patterned shawl rested on her elbows despite the warm sun filtering through the window panes. He crossed the room to where she sat next to the window in just a few powerful steps and stopped to press a tender kiss to the top of her head. He then placed a hand on her shoulder and stepped back to admire her masterpiece.

"If I might be forthright, I would say that this is not your finest work," he commented, trying to inject an element of humour into his voice,

"Looking for an insight into my tortured mind, dear brother?" Willow replied in a voice that would brook no nonsense.

Abraham did not press the issue with any further comment about her artwork. Willow had made it clear that she would not be baited by his taunts. He turned to drag the unoccupied chair behind him a little closer so he could sit at Willow's side, his knee resting lightly against her own.

"Where are my manners," Willow chided herself as set the brush down and swivelled in her chair, she reached out and briefly laid her hand on his thigh. "Welcome…home."

"Thank you…although it doesn't really seem like home yet does it?" Abraham glanced around at the depressingly bare room. "Still, Hagley Park is empty of our things and ready for its new occupants. I should imagine that the new furniture I have ordered will be arriving within the month."

"We'll have some new artwork for the walls at least," Willow commented with a nod towards her painting, finally allowing Abraham's infectious good humour to win her over slightly.

Abraham raised his eyebrows. "Please do not hang that, Willow."

Willow nodded seriously rather than take offence. "Yes, it is rather depressing isn't it?"

"Depressing? It's downright dull," Abraham noted bluntly.

Willow glanced down in her lap, absently stroking the dried black paint that covered her fingers and hands. When she returned her gaze to Abraham's face, any trace of amusement was gone once more. He sighed and reached out to cup her cheek with his sword-calloused hand. She leaned into the touch, closing her eyes.

"I wish you to smile again, Willow," he whispered tenderly. "I have very little memory of mother, but when you smile I can see her as if she were alive just yesterday."

Willow endeavoured to do her best for her brother but the awkward twitch of her lips could not be labelled a smile by any stretch of the imagination. With another quick squeeze of his knee, she faced her painting once more. She retrieved her brush, scooped up a liberal amount of black paint, and resumed applying it studiously onto the canvas as though there was a great deal of thought behind each stroke.

Abraham was content to watch Willow paint and brother and sister sat companionably in silence for several minutes. However, he had hurried home with the express intent of passing on a vital piece of news…news he knew Willow would want to hear but at the same time, it was news he never wanted to have to give her. He had managed to conceal the grief he felt from her throughout their initial greeting but as the time passed, he knew he could delay no longer or risk her hearing a choked sob burst forth from his lips. Such an outburst would no doubt make his task more difficult than it already was.

He waited for a pause in her painting efforts; it came as she leant back slightly to study her work with a thoughtful expression. However, after cocking her head to one side and sticking out the tip of her pink tongue she made such an adorable picture that Abraham could not bring himself to tell her. He dragged a trembling hand through his hair. Just a moment later, Willow spun around as though she were about to ask him something. She paused as though seeing something in his expression and her adorable expression was ruined by a frown.

"You look decidedly ill. Whatever is the matter, Abraham?"

Willow was scared. In all her nineteen years she had never seen her brother as close to tears as he was now. Abraham was her rock, the one person in her life whom she could always count upon no matter what. She quickly replaced her brush on the lip of easel and turned to face him, trembling with the thought of what he would tell her. Whatever it was that had rendered him so upset, it was grim news.

"A-Abraham," Willow prodded hesitantly.

He looked away as though he could not face her gaze, his strong shoulders stooping beneath a tremendous weight. Moments later he felt a slight pressure on his knee and he looked back once more to see Willow's small hand resting there, her skin white. With a pained smile he reached out and picked it up, squeezing the trembling fingers between his own.

"I have just come from the Tovey's…Mrs Tovey as you well know is a confidant of Amelia Walsh, Edward's mother," Abraham breathed in deeply and exhaled shakily. "Apparently Edward returned from his wedding tour yesterday evening."

"The Walsh's are back?" Willow was quick to interrupt, instantly forgetting her vow to avoid Tara at all costs when faced with the prospect of being able to see her again. "Abraham, dear brother, please do not hold back, did she say anything at all about _her_?"

All Willow's vows and admonitions to herself counted for naught in the face of news about Tara. She had scooted forward on her ottoman, close enough to Abraham to reach out and seize both his hands in her own.

"As a matter of fact…" he began. He tried to keep himself steady as he stared into his sister's searching, longing gaze. "She did."

Willow's first instinct was to feel an inkling of hope at the prospect of news about Tara, good or bad, however her hope quickly faded to anguish as she saw Abraham's struggle to control himself. She knew at that moment that the news went beyond just reporting that the married couple had returned, which in itself was enough to upset her, and into the realm of heartbreak.

Abraham shifted his hands so it was he who was holding her delicate fingers, he squeezed them firmly. "My dearest sister, I do not begin to know any of the details…but something horrible happened in Austria…people are saying it was a tragedy…all I know is…"

Abraham's composure finally broke and a single sob escaped his lips. It was smothered almost as quickly as it emerged but to hear it coming from her ordinarily unflappable brother was more than enough for Willow, she found herself choking back tears of her own.

"All I know is that Tara is dead," Abraham managed to finish quickly, his words tumbling over one another in his haste to get them out.

Despite the haste at which he said them, Willow clearly heard Abraham's words, especially the last three. _Tara is dead._ Willow rolled the words over and over within her mind as though she were trying to make sense of them. _Tara is dead…Tara is dead_. Her thoughts then immediately ran to the complete lack of information as the main reason for her inability to comprehend those words. _Tara is dead…how is Tara dead? Tara was killed in an accident? Tara died of an illness, Tara was murdered? No…Tara's not dead, it's impossible._

"No," Willow heard herself whisper the word unconsciously, as if saying the word itself would somehow negate the validity of Abraham's information.

"I know how immensely dreadful this must be for you, dear sister," Abraham continued to hold her hands, gripping so tightly her fingers were beginning to turn white. "And I want nothing more than to find out more information for you. It is imperative that I attend to some affairs with the bank before it closes…but as soon as I am done we will go together to the Walsh's. Willow, please promise me you will wait until I have returned and we might call upon Edward …to offer our sympathies?"

He was immensely distressed by the awful pallor to her cheeks and blank stare. Her reply to his plea distressed him even further. She did not rant or rave or protest against his decision. Instead she merely nodded with her lips set into a tight line. He knew that he should not leave her in such a state, but he could not avoid his business. Abraham stood and deposited a gentle kiss on the top of his sister's head. She did not respond in any way, even when he left the room.

Willow glanced towards the door only when Abraham had stepped out. She sat on the edge of her ottoman, still struggling to comprehend the meaning behind the news. Even though she knew it was relatively straightforward, a myriad of questions were demanding answers in her mind. In her confusion, she could not find the space inside her head to be upset, all she could do was sit and stare as she waited for the information to process.

Less than a minute after Abraham had departed, one of the parlour maids stepped quietly into the room and remained standing just to the right of the door. Willow wondered whether she was on suicide watch or merely there to make sure she did not try and leave the room. As her confusion slowly gave way to anger, Willow's nostrils flared with her indignation at being dictated to by her brother. She was not a child; she did not require a nursemaid every second of every day.

Seething inwardly, Willow turned her back on the door and instead stared at her unfinished painting. She lost herself in the swirl of black lines that went nowhere and everywhere at the same time. It was as though she had created a maze for which there was no solution, a perfect analogy for her tortured mind.

Willow could not tell how long she sat staring at the painting, she could only tell that she had lost track of time as the sunlight moved across the bare floorboards. However, she had not been idling wasting her time, she had been thinking and now she knew exactly what it was she had to do. Willow stood, feeling her muscles protest at the abruptness of her movement. She stared at the painting one last time and all of a sudden realised that she hated it. With an angry swipe, she knocked her jar of black paint from the table. It hit the ground with a glassy clatter and the thick liquid erupted out across the floorboards in a great black wave. Impassively, Willow watched the black paint spread outwards, it was exactly how she felt with the darkness of hate and anger spreading throughout her body. She was ruined and stained.

When Willow turned around the parlour maid was standing directly behind her. The startled young girl had been staring at the spilled paint but now she ducked her head in a quick curtsey.

"Can I make you some tea, Miss Rosenberg?" the girl offered quickly, her cheeks reddening as a result of Willow's uncomfortable stare.

"Do you enjoy working in this house, Nancy?" Willow asked coldly, ignoring the offer.

Nancy glanced up with a puzzled expression on her face at the usual behaviour of her mistress, "Y-yes Miss Rosenberg, of course."

"Then I suggest if you want to keep your job, you will let me walk out that door and you will not breathe a word to anyone else that I intend to go out," Willow continued, surprising herself with her iron-like tone.

The poor girl was obviously terrified; she could not open her mouth to form a reply and managed only a hasty nod. Barely waiting for her answer, Willow glided from the room, her steps firm with purpose.

Several minutes later, Willow was entering her carriage. The coachman, obviously having missed any message from Abraham to keep her in the house, could not agree to the curt demands of his young mistress fast enough. He was already spurring his horses forward before she had even closed the door behind her.

* * *

The decanter shook violently against the rim of the glass, sending most of the liquid sloshing onto the lace cloth beneath it. Even before he set down the decanter with a heavy thud, his fingers were already wrapping around the glass. With quick movements he lifted the glass to his lips, threw back his head and drained it in one gulp. The burning he felt in his throat and the warmth in his gut did nothing to dull the raw panic he felt coursing throughout his body. He poured a second measure, even larger than the first and sent this in the same direction. He was struggling to pour his third when he heard footsteps echo on the floorboards at his back, he slammed down the decanter and gripped the edge of the buffet table with both hands.

"How many times have I told you, mother!" he growled, slamming one clenched fist down so hard his glass jumped and fell to the floor, smashing instantly. "Leave me alone…there was nothing I could have done!"

"I'm not your mother," was the cold reply. "And I have no intention of leaving you alone until I have some answers."

He immediately straightened at the sound of a familiar voice but he remained facing the wall until he had smoothed his dishevelled clothing with his sweaty palms. When he did turn around he snorted back an inappropriate laugh at the sight of the small woman standing in front of him.

"Edward Walsh," she breathed in a monotone.

"Willow Van Helsing," his reply was high-pitched, almost nervous.

Edward had to admit that the past few months had not been kind to the young woman. She still had a beauty all of her own but her skin was taut over her bones, devoid of any colour save for the smattering of freckles over the bridge of her nose. Deep shadows hung beneath her dull green eyes, lending her a haunted air. What little skin he could see beneath her dress was also of a pale hue and her usually vibrant red hair was bound into a taut knot at the nape of her neck. She was the last person he wanted to lay eyes on. He knew exactly what she wanted - an explanation as to exactly how the bitch had met her end. Here was someone who actually gave a damn about his dead wife as opposed to what everyone else seemed to care about, the family's reputation.

"How did you get in here?" Edward licked his dry lips. He desperately needed at least one more drink to deal with this woman.

"I shot the butler," Willow replied simply.

Edward launched into an uncontrolled cackle so violent his entire body shook, he could not imagine the tiny woman in front of him holding a gun, let alone loosing one off…and he had heard no shot ring throughout the house.

With a smooth, almost practised motion, Willow withdrew a pistol she had 'borrowed' from Abraham from the pocket in her skirt. Her arm was steady as she levelled the weapon directly at Edward Walsh's head, still shaking with laughter. He stopped almost immediately and his beady dark eyes widened in fear. Willow's own eyes were steely with her resolve.

"Make no mistake Mr Walsh," Willow said in a slow, dangerous tone. "I have no qualms whatsoever about rendering your ugly face even uglier…and from this range I cannot possibly miss. You will tell me the truth of what happened to Tara…minus any lies you may be tempted to tell."

"I always thought you were insane," he replied, not at all impressed at being forced to stare down the barrel of a pistol, especially wielded by a woman.

"Are you trying to anger me?" Willow said as she slowly pulled back the lever on the pistol with her thumb; after it locked into the firing position, there no other sound in the room save for Edward's hoarse breathing.

The fully cocked pistol was starting to have its intended effect, his eyes remained wide, his lip trembling uncontrollably," You're serious in this madness?"

"I'm deadly serious, you bastard."

"It's simple!" he spluttered desperately. "She was a poor rider, she fell from her horse and broke her neck…it was all over very quickly."

"I said no lies, Mr Walsh!" Willow bellowed, her voice echoing throughout the room. "Tara was an accomplished rider. I know it was not an accident, now tell the truth, my finger is growing tired."

Even in her fury, Willow could still watch the play of emotions across Edward's face. Behind his own fear lay a definite anger, anger at being intruded upon in his own home by a woman he hated and forced to explain something he was trying to forget. Willow couldn't care less about how he was feeling, all she wanted was the truth and she was willing to go to any lengths to get it.

"If you lower that pistol I promise I'll tell you everything…just get it out of my face!" Edward's fear was beginning to dissipate; he spoke in a low tone that belied just how dangerous he was.

Willow lowered the pistol but keep it at her side in a firm grip. "Speak."

Edward did not reply immediately, instead he turned his back on Willow and crossed back to the alcohol sitting on the table behind him. He stared down at the pieces of glass lying in a pool of liquid on the floor; it was as if he just remembered smashing the glass.

"It was two months into our wedding tour…we were in Austria, a remote lakeside resort, Tara and I had a…disagreement," Edward paused and kicked at the largest piece of broken glass with the toe of his boot. "If I have to say one thing about her, I would say she was spirited."

Willow's mouth was set into a tight line. She had to fight to keep the pistol at her side and not level at his head. She could read into his pithy words and deduce exactly what had happened. She knew the layers of meaning hidden beneath the word 'disagreement' and felt both sick and furious. By the tone of his voice, the set of his shoulders and his cruel disposition, she knew the disagreement had been far more than mere words. It almost broke her then and there to imagine the hell Tara had gone through. With tremendous willpower, Willow regained the control she needed to see herself through.

Edward continued, "Tara left our hotel room and ran out into the night. I gave her a few moments to cool off before my footman and I went after her…by the time we found her it was already too late."

"Too late for what?" Willow asked. Her voice was tight and her knuckles white as she gripped the pistol.

When he turned around to face Willow his face was as pale as marble, his lips almost as white as his teeth as he bared them in an awful smile. "What do you think? She ran off alone into the night in a foreign country! We found her lying face down in a small copse of trees. When my footman touched her to roll her over he found her as cold as ice, he turned her over, I'll never forget those sightless eyes staring up at me, lips parted as though she had been screaming when she died…and indeed she had, a terrified shepherd heard her screams but when questioned all he would say was the word 'vampyre,' over and over again."

The word obviously meant nothing to Edward. He dismissed it as some local dialect. Willow could only hear the violence in Edward's tale and her heart ached for what Tara must have suffered.

"She was…" Willow had to pause and draw a deep breath lest she faint. "She was attacked?"

Edward shrugged. "In a manner of speaking I suppose, there were no marks on her save two puncture marks on her neck…the sight of them terrified the locals when they came to retrieve her body and they buried her almost as fast as a priest could be found to speak over her grave."

A cold shiver ran throughout Willow's entire body at the thought of Tara being shoved hastily and unceremoniously into a plain wooden box before being covered over with the cold earth of a country so far away. She closed her eyes, squeezing them tightly to combat the tears that threatened to slide down her cheeks. She immediately heard Edward's feet shuffle across the floor towards her but a split second later her eyes shot open and she lifted the pistol. He stopped a mere few feet away from her, his hands going into the air as if in surrender. Willow itched to pull the trigger and blow the smug smile from his face.

"Look at you, the little lover. It's disgusting and immoral that's what it is, you corrupted her beyond the point of redemption," Edward snarled, taunting her with his words. "She died violently and her rest was short. The next day her grave was torn open and her body gone, that's what happens to whores who flout the natural order of things by fucking other women. She was punished even in death!"

It took every ounce of control Willow possessed to hold herself together, on the outside she was as impassive as marble with only the firm set of her lip betraying the utter turmoil that lay within. She could feel herself falling apart, about to explode into a thousand pieces…inside she was screaming.

"How do I know this isn't some story you concocted?" Willow demanded, even though somehow she could sense that he was telling the truth she knew he was the type of man capable of anything. "How do I know you didn't kill her?"

Edward snorted. "What do you take me for, Miss Van Helsing? I am a gentleman, not a murderer. I never wanted Tara dead; you forget I loved her once…before you took her away from me she was destined to be mine! I still wanted her, even after what passed between the two of you, but I wanted to possess her, to make her spend an entire lifetime as my woman. No, killing Tara would be the last thing I would ever do. I wanted to prolong her suffering!"

"You wanted to prolong her suffering?" Willow repeated in a dangerous voice, the pistol suddenly grew very heavy in her hand and Edward's forehead was right in front of her. "You wanted to make her suffer...and you call me disgusting?"

Willow felt all the rage inside her body bubble to the surface; she felt absolutely no sense of remorse as she squeezed the trigger. At precisely the same moment that the gun discharged in her hand, Willow felt a solid shape shove her to one side. When the smoke cleared from her eyes she saw Edward Walsh still standing in front of her but looking over his shoulder at a jagged hole in the wall. Willow growled in frustration and tried to spring forward only to find her arms pinned behind her back.

When Edward spun around he saw Abraham Van Helsing restraining his struggling sister. Willow had dropped the gun but there was still murder in her eyes.

"You're insane!" Edward squealed, stabbing his finger in Willow's direction. "You could have blown my head off!"

"That was my intention!" Willow growled, trying to yank her arms out of her brother's grip.

"Willow, for heaven's sake…let us leave," Abraham pleaded.

"Get that bitch out of my house!" Edward demanded, taking several stumbling steps backward and further away from the Van Helsings.

"We're leaving, Walsh," Abraham barely acknowledged Edward, instead concentrating on keeping Willow's arms from flailing in all directions and inadvertently hitting him in the eye.

He eventually gave up trying to help her out on her own two feet and picked up her entire body. Willow buried her face in Abraham's chest and allowed herself to be carried out of the Walsh house.

Edward watched them leave with an expression torn between relief and disgust, fervently hoping that he had seen the last of Willow Van Helsing. He turned back to the decanter behind him, now standing amidst fragments of plaster fallen from the wall. The glass forgotten, he seized the entire decanter and poured the remaining alcohol down his throat as fast as he could.

The sunlight outside was too bright; Willow had to squint to avoid its painful glare. Everything was spinning around her, the footpath, the cobbled streets, and the people. All the carriages rushing past seemed to be coming directly at her, the horses towering high, snorting as though they were ferocious beasts. Willow cringed back against the nearest wall, wanting desperately to be able to sink straight through and be somewhere else…preferably dead.

Abraham was talking but Willow couldn't hear him, all she could see was his lips moving. His eyes wet with concern. He finally seized her by both shoulders, forcing her to stay still and stare right back at him.

"Willow!"

Willow's eyes focused on Abraham, at the sight of her brother's concerned expression she was forced to face the reality of her situation. The woman she loved was not merely married to another man…she was dead. Her anger and confusion finally gave way to grief; she sagged against her brother's chest as the tears fell.

Abraham gently cradled his sobbing sister as her entire body heaved. He glanced up to see passers-by giving them strange glances and a width berth on the street.

"Willow dearest, you must come into the carriage with me, people are staring," Abraham urged gently.

"What care I for anything in this world?" Willow sobbed brokenly into her brother's chest. "Tara is not just gone Abraham…she's dead, Tara is dead!"


	15. Willow Van Helsing, Vampire Hunter

**CHAPTER FIFTEEN  
Willow Van Helsing, Vampire Hunter**

"Willow for god's sake stop a moment! Are you sure this is such a good idea?"

Abraham found that even with his lanky legs he had to take the steps two at a time in order to keep up with his much smaller sister. He glanced up at the stately building that towered above them and to the sign next to the front door that proclaimed _Montagu House._

He was grateful that Willow paused when she reached the heavy oak door and turned to actually acknowledge his existence. "Why would it not be a good idea?"

"Because Willow…gentlewoman of your breeding do not go around reading books of the sort I know you want to read, and what makes you think that they will have what you require here anyway?" He nodded towards the door.

"Montagu House is home to one of the largest collection of written works in London. Where else would I go?" Willow fired back, clearly impatient to be inside.

"How about nowhere at all?" Abraham suggested archly.

"You would rather I was still at home locked in my room?" was Willow's acerbic reply. At Abraham's frustrated expression she continued. "And it has been two days and no one has come to fix my door after you smashed it down!"

Abraham growled in frustration, he felt very much like picking Willow up, throwing her over his shoulder and carting her straight back to Gordon Square. If he had not been so glad to see her outdoors then he would have only been too happy to do so. "You locked yourself in your room for three straight days; I thought you had succeeded in putting an end to your life!"

"Why would I do that? I would miss the pleasure of your company for the next forty years." Willow's sarcasm was blatant but underneath was the barely concealed fear created by Tara's death. For all the love she felt for her brother, she could not imagine spending the rest of her life desperately longing for the sort of love and fulfilment she had experienced with Tara.

"Willow, please…you'll meet someone..." Abraham began awkwardly.

Willow held up her hand as a signal for him to stop. "We both know the answer to that, Abraham…" she paused and drew a deep breath. "Look, I'm sorry about that business and for scaring you so."

"You do not need to apologise-"

"I do. You have been nothing but kind...compassionate. I have been acting like an inconsiderate child."

"True but understandable." Abraham accepted her apology with a curt nod.

"So I am allowed to inquire about vampires without ruining the family reputation?"

He sighed in a resigned manner that was not without a small element of humour. "The family reputation has been already well and truly ruined…and I care not for what the town gossips might say about the eccentric Van Helsing siblings."

As Willow entered the library she glanced back over her shoulder. "They are calling us eccentric?"

"The politer ones anyway," Abraham replied simply.

The siblings moved into the rather ostentatious lobby of Montagu House. Having been originally conceived as one of the grandest private residences in London, the house had been constructed during the last century; it was now home to the museum collections of the physician and scientist Sir Hans Sloane. In the years since Sloane's death, its holdings had expanded to include a library of almost a hundred thousand volumes.

As Willow moved from the lobby through to the library proper, her jaw dropped in awe. While she had never overly concerned herself with books, she had to admit the sight of thousands upon thousands of them stacked into row after row of heavy mahogany bookcases was rather impressive.

Abraham too was enraptured, almost to the point where he did not notice Willow determinedly marching up to the only other individual that he could see in the library. It was a rather tall gentleman who had his back turned towards them. He was obviously engaged in some form of gainful employment within the library as he was busily re-shelving books.

Willow tapped him rather purposefully on the shoulder, he spun around to reveal a rather distinguished, wise face, etched with the lines of experience that came with middle age. A pair of eyeglasses balanced on the tip of his nose.

"Er, hello," he looked a little startled to actually find people in the library besides himself, especially a rather determined looking young lady and an officer in uniform. "How can I help you, young lady?

"Can you point me in the direction of your books about vampires?"

"V-vampires?" he stammered as though quite shocked. "Well, t-there are several volumes in our foreign folklore section that might suit your needs…just over there."

"Folklore?" Willow interrupted in an annoyed voice. "I am not in the market for fairytales!"

Abraham moved forward to take Willow's elbow in a gentle grip; he could immediately see that his sister was losing her patience and would soon be involved in the kind of public display that was not seemly for a lady of her good breeding. Although Willow had never been overly concerned about her public appearances he did worry that their peers were starting to 'talk' about her having suffering a breakdown. While none outside of those directly involved knew the precise nature of this breakdown, Abraham was determined to save Willow any additional stress through this difficult period in her life. She had lost her lover twice, and did not need the kind of public scrutiny and judgement that went hand in hand with a scandal. As he watched her stare down the poor librarian with her disconcertingly fierce gaze, he was beginning to regret that he had given in to her wishes to come to the library in the first place.

Willow responded to her brother's touch by yanking her elbow away with one swift tug. She did however take note of the caution and concern directed towards her in his gaze and she managed to calm herself, enough at least to stop the librarian from backing away from her any further.

"Please forgive my outburst," Willow began. "I recently lost someone very dear to me…and I do not believe she was killed by a fairytale."

The librarian's expression changed at the heartbroken tone in Willow's voice, shifting from one of mild fright to sincere sympathy.

"Well, perhaps we might be able to talk…um, but not out here, we'll talk in my office over a cup of tea," he offered, nodding towards a door that led off from the main library.

"Tea would be lovely," Abraham smiled graciously as he took his sister's arm.

As the librarian led the way forward, he gave Willow's arm a firm squeeze as though warning her to be on her best behaviour. She glanced up at him and managed a small shrug as if to say she'd try.

A few minutes later, seated in worn but comfortable chairs and sipping warm cups of tea, Willow and Abraham waited patiently for the librarian to begin an explanation. His lanky frame was perched on the edge of his desk as he polished his eyeglasses with a fervour not normally associated with such an activity.

"I think we all started off on the wrong foot." It was Abraham who broke the silence while Willow gulped back her tea, he stood and crossed the short distance to the desk and extended his hand towards the librarian's for an overdue greeting. "I am Abraham Van Helsing…and this is my sister Willow."

The librarian replaced his glasses and smiled warmly. "Pleased to meet you, Rupert Giles…but most people just call me Giles and I invite you both to do the same."

Abraham returned to his seat and his tea and Giles remained sitting on his desk, although with his eye glasses now sitting on the tip of his nose, he studied Willow. She met his scrutinising gaze confidently, almost defiantly.

"Why don't we start by you telling me what you know?" Giles directed the question towards Willow rather than Abraham.

Willow absently set down her empty tea cup on the arm of her chair, it was balanced precariously and threatened to slide off before Abraham rescued it and set it safely down on a side table.

"We know very little," Willow admitted. "A…friend was attacked and killed while in Austria."

"Were you present?" Giles interrupted quietly, he noticed the strange way in which Willow seemed to struggle over the word _friend_. "Did you see the attack?"

Willow shook her head. "No…her…her h-husband told me. It was night, I'm not sure what time exactly but she was outside alone."

"Her husband let her go outside alone after dark?" Giles sounded as though this little fact angered him immensely.

"Yes, well, he wasn't exactly the ideal husband," Willow replied bitterly. "They fought and she ran. When he eventually went to look for her she was found dead with the only marks on her being two puncture wounds on her neck. A terrified local would only say the word 'vampire' and they then buried her quickly."

"And she remained entombed in her coffin?" Giles prodded.

Willow shook her head awkwardly. "Apparently not…her husband said the grave had been…torn open…I don't understand, something attacks her and then tears open her grave?"

"Not exactly," Giles shook his head. "The grave would have been torn open from within."

"From within?" Willow whispered, having difficulty in comprehending exactly what it was Giles was saying to her. "Are you implying that T...that my friend, tore open her own grave?"

As she struggled to retain composure, Willow ducked her head. She did not want either her brother or Rupert Giles to see the tears that were glistening in her eyes. She did not hear Giles reply immediately, and when she glanced up she saw he had turned to face the heavily laden bookshelves that filled the wall behind his desk. He went straight for a particular volume, an extremely large tomb that required both Giles' hands to lift it. When he placed it on the desk and opened the heavy metal clasp, Willow found herself rising from her chair and crossing the floor. She stared at the exquisitely tooled leather cover and the single word embossed there _- Vampyre_. Without further ado Giles opened the book in front of Willow, he deftly passed the first several pages of text before coming to an illustration. Willow's mouth fell open with awe. In dark, heavily drawn lines was depicted a recently filled grave with an awful, clawed hand emerging from the earth.

"Strictly speaking, your _friend_ did not tear open the grave my dear Miss Van Helsing, but rather the demon that now inhabits her body," Giles explained.

"They are real," Willow whispered, as unlikely as it was her instincts had been correct, Edward had told her the truth about what had happened to Tara…and the truth was more frightening than she could possibly have imagined.

"You are indeed correct Willow Van Helsing," Giles replied solemnly. "They are not myths or folklore…they are real and they stalk the shadows of this world…from the Ramanga in Madagascar to the Kyūketuki of Japan, Vrkolakas in Greece and the Strigoi or Moroi of Eastern Europe…they have many names and there are many local superstitions but they are essentially all the same."

Willow's blood ran cold. "They are…monsters?"

"Demons to be precise, demons that feed on the blood of living creatures…sometimes animals but they always prefer people." Giles continued to turn the pages of the text, showing Willow more gruesome illustrations of dark figures with their fangs pressed to the throats of terrified people. Willow had to eventually avert her eyes even as he continued, "Although unlike most demons they do not have their own form but rather inhabit the body of a human, with a few changes, they retain the form of the person they once were but inside they are pure demon…through and through, corrupt and evil to the core."

Giles paused on a particularly detailed illustration which depicted a vampire of apparently immense size. His face was shrouded beneath a dark cowl that only revealed a pointed chin, dripping with blood. The ground at his feet was littered with dozens of corpses. Beneath the illustration was written one word…

"Dracula," Willow read slowly, tracing her finger over the bottom of the page.

"Otherwise known as Vlad Tepes…Vlad the Impaler. A Wallachian Prince of the fifteenth century who through unknown means rose to become Lord of all Vampires, the Prince of Darkness…one of the most terrifying and dangerous demons to stalk the earth. Not exactly someone you would want to bump into for a spot of friendly conversation."

"And he's real…he's out there somewhere?" Willow reached out and turned the page of her own accord, away from the Dracula illustration.

"Yes…although he has not been seen by mortal eyes for some centuries, I do believe he is still 'out there' as you put it," Giles answered in an ominous tone.

Abraham finally stood, moving to stand behind Willow. He put his arm securely around her shoulders as a measure of comfort. It was appreciated, Willow reached up and took his hand in her own, she was struggling to accept what had happened to Tara…in seeking more information she had found it to be far worse than she ever could have imagined.

Willow closed her eyes to shut out the images in the book but instead she saw them flood her mind, although she replaced the unknown victims in the illustrations with Tara and was forced to watch over and over again as a savage being bit cruelly into the tender flesh of her pale neck. Willow remembered how the skin felt and tasted there; in that area below her strong jaw-line…it was smooth and sweet. A shudder ran through her entire body, a shudder which developed into a tremble which would not cease. Abraham held her even more firmly, both arms wrapping tightly around her body but she still could not stop the uncontrollable spasms which held her in their thrall.

"Sister, we should leave," Abraham whispered gently, he looked up to Giles. "Mr Giles…thank you so much for your time but I should really get Willow home-"

"No," Willow opened her eyes, they glistened with unshed tears but her voice was firm. "Tell me what would have happened to her…and spare me no details."

"Willow, no," Abraham began, knowing it would only serve to upset Willow further. "There are some things you are better off not knowing."

Willow tried to wrestle free from her brother's embrace, after a few moments of futile struggling; he gave up and let her go. She turned to face him with a defiant expression. "I will be the judge of that…I need to know what happened to her!"

"Mr Giles, do not indulge her in this whim!" Abraham implored the librarian, seeing as Willow was beyond all hope of reason. "She has been through enough already!"

Giles appeared as though he wanted to have nothing to do with the familial squabble and he raised his hands to indicate this. Willow was not to be persuaded otherwise and she stared him down, her fierce gaze burning right through him.

"Mr Giles, think whatever you may of me…but her name was Tara Maclay, and I loved her more than life itself," Willow admitted, hardly caring that Giles was far more likely to react to her 'perversion' as Edward did rather than in the same, accepting manner as Abraham, she continued, "For my own sanity I need to know what happened to her…for the sake of closure…I have no grave to mourn at, please grant me this?"

Giles merely sighed and nodded, seemingly unconcerned at Willow's admission of her love for the dead woman, if anything his gaze was even more sympathetic. "I can only tell you the raw elements of a turning, in each case it varies…in some cases vampires enjoy torturing their victims before they feed but not always, sometimes it is done in haste lest they are startled in the midst of their meal, but whether it was over quickly or not, it would have eventually drank Tara's blood…most probably while she was still alive as they prefer it warm and flowing, she would have eventually died from a massive loss of blood and possibly the trauma of the wound. I…I think that it would have been slow and painful, if she had not fainted initially, then perhaps she would have struggled."

"She would have," Willow interrupted in a tight, controlled voice. "She was strong…tell me what would have happened following her death?

"Well, according to your brief account, she would have been found by her husband and interred hastily…sometimes local people have the experience and knowledge to cut the hearts out of the dead…although there is no safeguard…sometime later, the demon that was once Tara would have woken in its coffin and immediately fought its way free, vampires have an inhuman and unholy strength you see. The demon that would have emerged from the grave is not your Tara, Willow, it will look like Tara and may even have some of her memories, but the woman you once loved is dead…this creature is a blood-sucking monster that is incapable of thinking anything other than evil thoughts."

"She is trapped inside her body then?" Willow asked brokenly.

Giles shook his head firmly. "No, her soul would have departed the corrupted form…you can be rest assured that the Tara you know is safely in heaven as she should be."

Willow breathed a sigh of relief at her mind being put to rest on that account but there was one other thought on her mind. "Is there a way to bring her back…restore her soul and have her be Tara once more?"

"No, Willow," Giles replied, once more turning through the pages of the book. "You mustn't ever hold out the hope that Tara can ever be saved, if you ever see the demon that was once Tara then there is only one thing that you can do…only one thing that you must do."

"What is that?" Willow asked in a mere whisper, already knowing the answer.

"Kill it," Giles found the page he was looking for which showed a handsomely attired knight driving a wooden stake through the chest of a vampire. "Stake it through the heart with wood or silver, decapitate it, burn it…or expose it to sunlight in the case of most vampires."

"Most?" Abraham interrupted with a puzzled expression, he had been pouring over the page with some level of enthusiasm.

"Some older, more powerful vampires are not constrained to walk the earth during the night…some are immune to the sun's rays and can walk anywhere at will."

"You seem to know a great deal about vampires for a librarian," Abraham commented with a wry smile. "One would say that you almost know too much about them…why is that?"

At that point Giles straightened somewhat and both Abraham and Willow no longer saw the middle-aged, bespectacled librarian they had first met, instead he seemed to be something much more, an imposing, powerful presence, "I am no mere librarian, my friends…I am a vampire hunter."

"Perfect!" Willow added immediately, her eyes shining with unrestrained fervour. "Teach me how to be one."

* * *

Sticking out her bottom lip, Willow directed a jet of air upwards, aimed at shifting a wayward strand of hair out of her eyes. The hair fluttered away immediately but stubbornly floated straight back into the same place a second later. Willow continued puffing out bursts of air several more times in a concentrated effort to put the red locks in their place once and for all. Each time they moved only to fall right back into her eyes again. Her efforts to blow the hair out of her face was not due to any inability to use her hands, both appendages were poised holding open the pages of the massive book in front of her and could have decently been spared for the second or two it would have taken her to tuck the hair behind her ear. Willow was bored…and in her boredom she had discovered that even the smallest amusements could keep her occupied more effectively than the text which Giles had assigned her to read.

Willow finally gave up her huffing and puffing and seized the lock between her fingers. She tucked it securely back behind her ear. Rather than return to reading she slumped forward with a groan, her cheek coming to rest on the page she was supposed to be reading. She had been under the distinct impression that vampire-hunting would be exceptionally exciting and would involve the use of many sharp, pointy objects. However, for the past two weeks all Giles had allowed her to do was read…and read she did, hundreds and hundred of texts. All were equally fascinating of course, dealing with every known aspect of vampire lore and then the wider subject of demonology but the novelty had worn off for Willow a few thousands pages ago. She was a woman of action, not books and her perpetual diet of words was starting to bore her to tears.

Abraham joined her in the evenings as he was going through the motions of resigning his commission in the 18th Regiment of Light Dragoons, although those were periods where they managed very little study as Willow was far too bored to do anything but try and distract her overly studious brother.

On this particular afternoon she was just nodding off to sleep in the main reading room at Montagu house when she heard footsteps behind her. Thinking it was Giles she bolted upright and feigned fascination with the text she was reading on the mating habits of demons.

"I am not Giles. You don't have to pretend to read, Will."

Willow turned to see Abraham striding towards her; she immediately noticed his attire. So used to seeing him in uniform, Willow thought he cut a decidedly odd picture wearing a green cutaway tailored coat over a satin waistcoat and black breeches. She was pleased to see that he still refused to adopt the fashion of wearing a powdered wig atop his mane of red hair, today however it was tied back at the nape of his neck with a black ribbon.

"You make me feel decidedly under-dressed," Willow glanced down at her own simple white muslin trimmed only with a green pastel sash.

"Compared to most of the women in England, you are under-dressed," Abraham smiled, straightening the lapels of his coat as he stood just slightly behind Willow's chair.

"You know me, never much for frippery, "Willow commented, reaching out to take his hand. "You're all un-soldiered?"

"I have officially resigned my commission and have been granted an honourable discharge." Abraham was smiling but Willow could tell that there was some measure of regret there as well. Up until the events of the past month, the army had been an integral part of his life. It had to have affected him greatly to sever all ties with the regiment in which he had served for ten years. "Although I think many of my friends may have thought it should be a dishonourable discharge."

"They were not impressed with your decision?" Willow asked, folding her book shut as she turned to face him properly.

"Not impressed would be putting it mildly…I would use words like outraged, miserable…mostly I think they just do not understand," Abraham feigned a measure of gaiety in his voice. "Still, I do not blame them, if you had told me just last month that I would be resigning my hard earned commission in a fine cavalry regiment in order to spend my time hunting down and destroying demons then I would have told you that you were two steps shy of the asylum."

His sister emitted a small snort of disgust. "Your 'hard-earned' commission was purchased for a large sum of money. I'm sure if you don't like demon hunting then you can buy another one."

Abraham smirked. "Not that I told them demon-hunting was my new profession of course…given that I will be spending a great deal of my time here, I told them I was going to be a librarian…imagine that, Abraham Van Helsing resigning his commission in the 18th Dragoons to become a librarian. I do not think they will take me back even for a small fortune."

"Will telling you how much I love you help with the pain?" Willow suggested cheekily.

Abraham stooped to deposit a quick kiss on the top of Willow's head. "That and a very thorough foot rub."

"Okay, I love you but there's no bloody way I'm touching your disgustingly smelly feet!" Willow said firmly, wrinkling up her delicate little nose as though she could smell the offending appendages already.

Abraham's eyebrows lifted slightly at her casual use of foul language. "Willow, since when did you start talking like a sailor?"

Willow shrugged nonchalantly. "Well, since I'm a demon hunter now I thought it rather silly that I would say 'oops a daisy' or 'oh no' or something equally as pathetic while engaged in a life or death struggle with a demon that wants to rip my throat out. I figure that 'bloody', 'damn,' and 'cocksucker' are far more effective…although my vocabulary is rather limited and I would appreciate it if you could teach me some more, equally appropriate curses."

"Good lord!" The siblings were interrupted by the appearance of Giles, as always he was in the act of cleaning his glasses, he replaced them and implored Abraham. "Please don't teach her a thing…yesterday she used a very unsavoury term when I suggested she might want to re-read 'Demonology in the Ancient World.'"

"I have read it once already!" Willow protested in her own defence.

"You could not answer a single question related to your reading!" Giles snapped back.

"Well it was boring enough the first time around!" Willow growled defiantly.

"And besides…neither of you are demon hunters yet…you're in training," Giles added with an air of a satisfaction.

"I would hardly call reading enough bloody books to sink a bloody ship, _training_." Willow muttered, folding her arms across her chest.

Giles dumped something on the desk in front of her with a loud thud, Willow jumped in fright. However, when her heart stopped racing she saw that it was a massive battleaxe, its broad blade shining in the weak light filtering through into the library. An eager smile crossed Willow's face as she stood in order to take in its splendour more effectively. She wrapped her fingers around the haft in a firm grip and made to lift it in one impressive flourish. Her grand effort was short-lived however as she found it much too heavy to lift with one hand. Even with two hands she struggled to raise it to chest height. Abraham crossed the floor and took it from her, stepping back so he could swing it freely.

"These will be more appropriate for you, Willow," Giles threw down several much smaller objects that made far less impressive sounds as they hit the table.

Willow picked up one of the foot long objects and held it up for closer examination. Unlike her reaction to the battleaxe, she was not impressed and glanced up to Giles with her feelings written plainly on her face.

"It's a twig!" Willow protested.

"It is a stake," Giles replied in a tight voice, obviously offended, he snatched the one out of Willow's hands and deftly twirled it over the back of his palm, catching it once more in his fist. He glanced up and was rather pleased to see the surprised expression on Willow's face. "In the hands of a hunter it is far more effective than any cumbersome battleaxe."

He set down the last weapon he carried on the table and this too took Willow's fascination, although after her embarrassment with the battle axe she made no move to pick it up. It was a small crossbow that looked light and manoeuvrable, perfect for wielding in tight alleyways. She was still studying it with great enthusiasm when she suddenly felt a strong pair of arms wrap around her neck, in a split second she had her own hands up beneath her attacker's arms to stop whoever it was from choking her. She then drove the heel of her boot downwards as hard as she was able. Her attacker yelped in pain in a masculine voice and Willow was able to wriggle free in order to snatch up the crossbow which Giles had left on the table, in seconds she had spun on her heels and had the weapon levelled directly at a young man's forehead. He very quickly lifted his hands in surrender.

"Ah Willow," Giles coughed politely. "You might want to lower your crossbow."

Willow turned her head slightly but kept the crossbow pointed just in case. When she saw the small grin that was slowly spreading across Giles's face she grudgingly lowered the weapon and turned back to study the young man she had almost impaled with a crossbow bolt. He was as tall as Abraham, but where her brother was pale; he was swarthy and dark with flashing brown eyes. From head to toe he was clad in black, black breeches, high-collared black shirt and a long black leather coat which swirled about the tops of his highly polished boots. He shifted slightly to assume a more relaxed posture and his coat gaped slightly to reveal a sword with an elaborate silver hilt.

Before any further words were said his full lips parted and he flashed a pair of white teeth in a rakish grin. If he had hoped Willow to respond with a blush he was to be disappointed, she merely narrowed her eyes suspiciously and kept a firm grip on the stock of her crossbow.

"New recruits, Rupert?" he asked without taking his eyes off Willow.

"Ah, yes," Giles strode forward and made a pointed gesture of plucking the crossbow from Willow's firm grip before she could do any damage with it. "Although I would be quick to point out that they are largely untrained…Willow, that crossbow is not loaded"

Willow looked at the weapon and her lip tweaked in annoyance; she then set it back down on the table. When she faced the newcomer once more, her expression was still as defiant despite the amused laugh that burst from her brother's lips.

"Untrained perhaps, but spirited all the same." His voice was deep and polished in tone; each sentence departed his lips as though it were some grand and important statement.

Willow was highly unimpressed. "Who the hell are you?"

"Willow, your manners!" Abraham chided under his breath.

Apparently unaffected by Willow's rather rude question, the dark man crossed the short distance that separated them and extended his hand in friendship. "My apologies, I am Christopher Croft, an associate of Rupert's…and I am very pleased indeed to meet you, Miss…?"

"What do you mean by 'associate'?" was her rather curt reply.

"I am sorry, I am so used to meeting people who are not involved in our line of work…you might say 'fellow demon hunter' for the initiated," Christopher replied easily, still untroubled by Willow's complete lack of manners.

Abraham pushed past his little sister, purposefully giving her a firm elbow as he passed. He held out his own hand to the newcomer in order to give him a more polite welcome.

"Abraham Van Helsing." The two men shook, both retaining a firm grip for longer than was necessary as they sized each other up.

"Pleased to meet you, Abe," Christopher flashed another smile, although not half as warm as that which he had obviously marked for the other man's sister.

"Abraham," Abraham corrected quickly and not at all pompously. "I do not go by anything else but I'll forgive you just this once. This rude but usually lovely young lady is my sister Willow."

Abraham gave Willow another sharp poke in the ribs with his elbow and she obediently proffered a hand in Christopher's direction. He took it with a gentle touch, although Willow immediately felt the rough calluses on his palm and fingers. She knew from touching Abraham's hands that this was a result of many hours spent with a sword in one's hand. While she guessed that his appearance was probably not all for show and he was probably quite capable with the sword he wore, she still grimaced when he pressed his lips firmly to the back of her hand. When he straightened once more he was smiling as though the two of them had just shared an intimate moment.

Christopher sighed theatrically. "Usually lovely? I would say she is permanently lovely."

While Willow averted her gaze uncomfortably, Abraham snickered at what he considered to be an extremely amusing comment. "You'll never see her first thing in the morning with her hair still up in rags…she's foul tempered and not at all pretty."

Willow showed Abraham precisely what a foul-tempered expression was and he was distinctly thankful that she could not lift the battleaxe.

Christopher's reply was quick and delivered with a wink in Willow's direction. "Well, one can only hope."

Giles read into the situation clearly, glancing quickly between the adoring expressing on Christopher's face to the stormy one on Willow's and the confused one on Abraham's. He stepped in between all three of them and immediately eased the tension in the room,

"What do you all say to a spot of tea?" Giles kept his tone light. "And then we can talk about getting down to the much anticipated business of weapon training for our new recruits."

Giles glanced to Willow and saw that her eyes were sparkling with anticipation; any trace of hostility towards Christopher had been vanquished. He congratulated himself for this little victory but fervently hoped that this would not be a longstanding issue between his three associates. As he watched the three of them start to move in the direction of the sitting room, with Abraham keeping a close hold on his sister, he made a mental note to drop Christopher some barely concealed hints as to Willow's sexual penchant for women.

* * *

Willow swung her arms experimentally, testing the confines of the specially tailored man's coat that she wore. Although she had worn men's clothing previously during training, being outside albeit at night, was another thing altogether.

"Will, you look fine…positively dashing even," Abraham commented.

Willow turned to look at her brother, he was wearing exactly the same clothes as she, the same black coat, worn open of course to allow easy access to the sword belted at his waist, a black woollen waistcoat and black breeches and riding boots. The sibling's had both concealed their red hair with unadorned black tricorne hats.

"That's easy for you to say," Willow stretched her legs and bent slightly so she could run her palms over the thick breeches that covered her legs. "I've never felt so constrained."

Christopher rolled his eyes at their light banter, obviously feeling that they were not showing sufficient gravity for the situation. He was of course wearing black with his trademark leather coat. His dark hair meant he had no need for a hat but for some strange reason he did not have it clubbed back but rather had it worn out, framing his dark face.

"Are you sure you're ready for this, Willow?" Christopher asked the young woman, his voice heavy with concern.

"Surely you jest…I've been waiting for this night for months," Willow replied, lifting her head to meet his worried frown with a calm gaze of her own.

It was indeed true, although Giles had refused to let Willow and Abraham give up their book research completely; most of their time for the past few months had been filled with all manner of weapon training. Willow's boredom had been completely alleviated and she had thrown herself into learning as much as possible from Giles and her brother in terms of swordsmanship and hand to hand fighting techniques. She tended to avoid prolonged contact with Christopher as he had a penchant for using far more bodily contact with her than was strictly necessary when it came to training. Even after Giles had a little talk with their new associate, he still had difficulty accepting the fact that Willow was not interested in him.

Still, for all his faults and unnecessary pomposity, he was a highly skilled and daring hunter. Although his exploits were recounted with additional embellishments, Giles assured the Van Helsing's that much of what he said was indeed true. Willow would have been impressed if only half of it was true and as such she paid attention to what he said…while still avoiding his hands.

Now, with Giles having deemed the siblings ready, they stood in a particularly unlit part of town in which neither Willow nor Abraham had ever thought to venture, nor even knew it existed. It was on the outskirts of the poorest section of town, Christopher explained, a popular haunt for recently turned vampires, still coming to grips with the fact that they were now bloodsucking demons preying on the blood of humans. Few people actually ventured into the area of their own accord, those that did were mostly drunks or people that would not be missed by anyone…all easy prey for the newer creatures of the night.

"I do not seek to disappoint you, but we may not even lay our eyes on a scion of Dracula this evening, they know I often stalk these streets. Although-" Christopher stopped speaking for a moment as he glanced skyward at the dark night sky, "-no moon, no stars, a heavy foreboding air…it is a good night for hunting."

Willow hefted the crossbow she carried into a more suitable position beneath her arm. Holding it in both hands she could very quickly raise it level to fire the silver tipped bolt. Beneath her coat she carried both a silver sword and dagger and several additional bolts. The night was cold, but it was so dark she could not see her breath misting in front of her eyes. As she walked forward, with Christopher's back barely visible ahead and Abraham silently following behind, she tried to remember Giles's training. His calm voice merely repeated the same information over and over in her head - _watch the shadows_. Willow tensed her lip, everything was in shadow!

When it finally did come, Willow needn't have bothered struggling to remember every scrap of information she had gleaned from her mentor. As soon as the trio of vampires made their appearance, something triggered inside Willow's head and she allowed herself to be guided by her instincts, instincts which rendered her a vampire's worst nightmare.

Two solid shapes dropped down into the alley just in front of her, heavily cloaked shapes that almost melded with the darkness around them. Both went straight for Christopher, one seizing him around his neck in a chokehold while the other went for his arms. A third set of footsteps came running from the darkness behind; a muffled grunt meant that it had run straight into Abraham.

Despite the situation, Willow found herself grinning. The vampire's had obviously picked out the stronger targets first…it was their first mistake. Willow brought the crossbow up quickly and taking barely a second to find her target in the darkness, she loosened the bolt. There was a dull thud followed a split second later by a piercing scream and a small explosion. Tiny particles of dust spread outwards and were swallowed by the night…all that remained of one vampire.

Rather than reload, Willow tossed aside her crossbow and withdrew a small bottle from the inside of her jacket. Without fumbling, she struck a match on the nearest brick wall and lit the fuse protruding from the bottle. She could not risk throwing it at either vampire as they were grappling with her companions at close quarters; instead she dashed it to the ground. The glass bottle smashed and the liquid within burst into bright flames as it spread. Having created a burning puddle, Willow drew both her sword and dagger and was able to survey the scene in the alley. Behind her, Abraham had lost his hat and his red hair hung about his face as he duelled with a scruffy vampire who was no mean swordsman. He appeared to be holding his own but Christopher however was pinned to the ground beneath an abnormally large vampire, desperately trying to keep his neck protected.

Willow darted forward, at the last possible moment before her dagger plunged downward; the demon sensed her presence and spun, slogging a huge fist in her direction. Although the blow would have removed her head from her shoulders had it made contact, he was too slow and Willow was able to duck beneath the swing. She darted around the clumsy vampire, over Christopher's prone form and leapt in the air. While it was over in about a second, Willow could see each of her actions as clearly as if they had already been planned and executed in her mind. Her right foot hit the nearest alley wall and she sprung backwards, as she did she spun in the air and brought the same foot around in an arc. It came into full contact with barrel-like chest of the demon, the force enough to send him stumbling backwards. His heavy body came crashing down directly atop Willow's puddle of fire and within seconds he was engulfed. Still writhing, his body exploded into dust, this time looking like tiny sparkling embers which floated around her like fire flies.

Breathing heavily with the thrill of the moment, Willow turned to see the last remaining vampire had noticed his companions were no longer with him and had decided that fleeing was his only option. Abraham had turned to pursue his quarry but Willow was faster, hurling her dagger directly into the demon's back even as he was scaling the a side wall of the alley. The flying dagger narrowly missed Abraham's ear and plunged into the creature before he was half way up the wall. Before its body could hit the ground, it was nothing but a floating cloud of dust, drifting down to the alley floor at Abraham's feet.

Eyes wide with appreciative shock, Abraham spun around and confirmed his ear was indeed still attached to the side of his head. Still regarding Willow with a funny expression on his face, he crossed to where Christopher was still lying on his back. Their dark-haired companion appeared ruffled, but in perfectly fine health despite being decisively flattened by the hefty vampire.

"You and I needn't have bothered coming out at all," Abraham chuckled as he helped the other man to his feet with one swift tug. "In future we can remain in bed while Willow single-handedly rids the dark places of London of all manner of nasty creatures."

This little comment did not amuse Christopher in the slightest as he shot Willow a look before attending to his attire. His leather coat was scuffed and slashed in several places with one sleeve almost torn completely off. Abraham could only smirk at his expression, knowing full well just how he felt for he was feeling the same way, although any feeling of jealousy was far outweighed by his amazement at his sister's extraordinary prowess with a sword.

He slapped Christopher heartily across his back. "I know it's scary but just accept it as a good thing."

"Bah! The three were all recently turned…and I was caught off guard by that one's size," Christopher explained with a nod towards the still burning embers at his feet, he lifted his chin defiantly as though challenging Abraham to mock him.

Abraham was too much of a gentleman to do nothing of the sort and he merely smiled as he looked towards Willow who was eagerly scanning their environs as though there were more vampires waiting patiently to be slain.

"I have no doubt that the three were weak. I do not expect all nights will be quite this straightforward…but even so, you have to admit that she is impressive," Abraham continued.

"But she is just a woman!" Christopher spluttered indignantly.

Willow turned to regard both of them with a wry smile on her face. She completely ignored Christopher's shocked expression and incredulous comments and re-sheathed her sword in one swift movement as she crossed the alley to join her brother. He reached out and playfully tousled her hair just to ensure she did not fly too high and remembered her place in the world as his baby sister.

"I don't know about you, Abraham," Willow commented as she brushed the dust off the front of her jacket with a few quick strokes. "But I could get used to this."


	16. The Scent of White Roses

**CHAPTER SIXTEEN  
The Scent of White Roses**

December 1782

Abraham peered over the throng of theatre goers as he made his way to the exit. Although the intent had been to leave the theatre quickly, several young women were clustered around his companion, all talking animatedly in an effort to catch his eye. In amongst this, there was also much fan waving and fluttering of eye lashes. The young man tugged at his collar uncomfortably and stood on his tip toes as though he were searching for someone. A few moments later Abraham finally managed to gently push his way through the throng of admirers and extended his hand towards his hapless companion at the centre.

"Please excuse me ladies, but we have an engagement we cannot possibly be late for," he inclined his head towards each of the young ladies in turn before drawing the young man out of their circle.

The two men managed to make their way out of the theatre without further incident apart from one having to pluck several lace handkerchiefs from his person, bestowed on him by his admirers.

The taller of the two, Abraham Van Helsing snatched away one of the handkerchiefs as his companion held it held with a mild look of disgust on his face. He laughed lightly and tucked the finely worked fabric into his own breast pocket as though he had been the lucky man surrounded by admiring young women. His companion however was not a man, but rather his younger sister, Willow.

Throughout the three years since the Van Helsings had permanently moved to London and taken up their new occupation, Willow had donned men's clothing in public. She had very quickly discovered that wearing a pair of breeches and a jacket with a tricorne on her head was immensely more practical than going about town in a dress. As far as the gossips and old matrons were concerned, Willow Van Helsing had become a recluse after being jilted by a suitor and the young lad that accompanied Abraham almost everywhere was a cousin from the country. To save too much confusion however, his name was Will.

"I swear you attract almost twice as many admirers as I." Abraham watched as Willow stuffed a handful of handkerchiefs in the pocket of her coat.

Willow scowled, absently kicking at a loose cobble on the ground. "Well, I received several of what I think were thinly veiled marriage proposals and more than enough wandering hands. I thought young ladies were raised to be decorous and shy?"

"You've become quite a rake, Will," Abraham chuckled. "Who would have thought that you would make such a handsome boy?"

"Well, it's nights like tonight that I feel as though I should go home and pull on a dress, just to remind myself that it is not really me all those women want," Willow replied with an edge of bitterness to her voice.

The siblings were silent for a few blocks, walking through the darkness companionably until they turned into Gordon Square and Abraham finally manage to utter the comment that had been on his mind since the final curtain closed on the play. He glanced across at Willow, her skin pale in the cold night air, her breath misting in front of her.

"You know Will, the actress that portrayed Maria? I thought she resembled…well, a little at least, I thought she resembled…" Abraham paused, unable to say the women in question's name.

Willow knew exactly whom Abraham was referring to but she was spared having to answer immediately as they reached the heavy black door of their home. Abraham opened it for her and waiting just inside the door was their butler, Samuel, a man of indeterminate years with solid grey hair and youthful eyes.

"Good evening," he greeted his employers in his usual formal manner.

"Hello Sam," Abraham was quick to reply before turning his attention back to Willow, prodding gently. "She did look a little like her, didn't she?"

"A little perhaps…I did not dwell on the resemblance at the time," Willow replied smoothly, removing her hat and overcoat and practically throwing both in poor Samuel's arms.

Abraham paused in removing his own coat and spotted her reply for what it was…a lie. He had glanced across at her expression several times during the performance to see tears glistening in her eyes as she stared unwaveringly at the actress in Sherdian's _The School for Scandal_. It was very clear to him that watching the performance had been an exercise in torture for Willow. Even after three years had passed, Tara was never far from her thoughts.

Although he should have known better, Abraham could not resist posing his next suggestion in an effort to rekindle Willow's non-existent love life, "You know, I am secure we could secure an introduction if you would like?"

"I do not wish to speak of it," Willow interrupted tersely, once she had managed to banish all thoughts of the look-alike she resumed her usual confident, mildly cheerful demeanour, "I know it is late, but I am not really tired…and with Christopher and Giles patrolling the streets tonight…"

"Willow, it is intended to be our night off," Abraham reminded her. "Even the amazing Van Helsing siblings could do with a full night's sleep every so often."

"I know…just…could we train though, even for half an hour or so?" Willow pleaded.

Abraham sighed with mock-suffering. "I am still carrying the bruises from our bout earlier today…but if it will help take your mind off things-"

"It will!" Willow clapped her hands as though she had secured a promise and was not about to let it go.

As she headed towards the library, Abraham paused and looked down at his attire. "You think we should at least change first?"

"No time!" Willow called over her shoulder, already disappearing through the door into the library.

Abraham rolled in his eyes in Samuel's direction but their butler merely shrugged as if he was hardly surprised and proceeded to hang Willow's things on the coat rack.

When Abraham joined Willow in the library she had already pulled forward the book that triggered the door to their training room. As they waited for a small section of the book shelves that lined the walls to slide backwards into a recess behind it, Abraham glanced around at the rest of the handsome oak shelves laden with all manner of finely bound texts.

"I swear the only reason we have a library is to camouflage this door…none of these books has ever actually been read, we could have just as easily made the door behind a fireplace, you know," he commented, knowing the lack of dust on the shelves was entirely due to Nancy's sterling efforts with a duster.

The shelf stopped moving and then with creaking hinges it swung backwards to reveal a set of polished wooden stairs leading downwards in a spiral. The staircase was lit by several lamps burning in brackets set into the wall. Willow moved down first, leaving Abraham to close the door behind them by giving one of the brackets a quick tug.

"I shall choose to ignore your comments about my lack of scholarly learning," Willow replied, her eager footsteps made loud thuds as she bounced down the stairs.

Abraham just grinned at his irrepressible younger sister, watching as she moved ahead of him down the spiralling staircase. They wound around the central pillar no less than three times before the staircase emerged in a particularly large room lit with an assortment of flickering lamps and candles, all faithfully lit by Samuel who had obviously instinctively known that Willow would want to train after returning from the play.

Unlike the house proper, all four walls of the room were undressed stone. It was made to seem even more spacious than it actually was by virtue of the fact that much of it was actually empty, with only padded canvas mats covering the wooden floor. Everything else in the room was pressed against the walls to leave as much room as possible. The wall to the left of the stairwell was laden with more books, although these were of the type that could not be left upstairs where guests might idly peruse them given that they were on topics that might be considered a little odd…vampires, demons and witchcraft…not exactly 'The Castle of Otranto' or 'Robinson Crusoe.' There was some evidence that these books were actually read as several were sitting on a table in front of the shelves, with some even lying open. On the wall directly opposite the bookshelves were several targets, obviously intended for use with a crossbow or anything else that could possibly be fired or thrown. In the centre of each target was a drawing of a fierce creature, while some were drawn with an amount of skill indicating that Willow had painted them, others were little more than crude caricatures, Abraham's work. All bore evidence of significant use, liberally punctured with holes and one even still had an axe buried in its centre.

In this particular night, Willow and Abraham did not head for the books or the targets; instead they were focused on the longest wall which was staring at them as they emerged from the staircase. Running the entire length of the wall were all manner of racks and shelves, each specially adapted to the object it held. There were several upright niches, each containing a metal breastplate. By far the largest amount of space was devoted to weapons racks holding almost anything that could shoot, slice or club a foe to death. Upright racks held both short and long-bore flintlock rifles while smaller racks held pistols, all of which had been specially adapted to fire silver balls as opposed to the standard lead. Several crossbows were housed next to the guns, most were of the lighter variety which were easy to wield in close quarters.

Abraham moved straight to the racks holding the swords; he fingered several of his favourites, from the sabre of his cavalry days to a light, flexible rapier which was often favoured for practise.

"What will you be requiring tonight?" Abraham perused the racks of weapons as one would a market stall looking for a ripe piece of fruit. "How about a rapier…or something a bit heavier? Or shall we forgo all these wonderfully pointy things and go hand to hand?"

"As much as I would like be reminded of a childhood spent being wrestled to the ground by my big brother, I think that I would prefer to have a rather large stick in my hands," Willow grinned as she stripped off her evening jacket and threw it with a flourish to one side. It fluttered and landed across the book laden table.

Abraham selected two wooden staffs, each about four feet long, from the rack and tossed one to his sister. Willow caught it deftly and twirled it between both hands before abruptly freezing in a fighting stance, her weight poised on the balls of her feet, staff levelled towards Abraham.

With a long-suffering sigh, Abraham faced off against her with none of the same showiness, he merely settled into position without fuss. His green eyes did not leave hers, waiting and watching for the first move. When it came it was lightning quick, but that was to be expected from his sister. She moved as though the staff weighed absolutely nothing in her hands and her feet did not need to touch the ground. Knowing her as well as he did, Abraham knew that his sister was merely human and she had weaknesses as every fighter did.

Her first sweeping attack, bringing the staff around in a horizontal swipe aimed at his chest, had too much force behind it. It was something Willow was prone to do almost every time for a good reason, when you were fighting a demon, you wanted your first strike to be your last. Abraham deftly ducked the sweeping blow, feeling Willow's staff brush his hair as it passed overhead. As she overbalanced at the end of the swing he lunged forward with a jab that was intended to hit her square in the gut but she merely moved from overbalancing into a spin which saw the tip of Abraham's staff come into contact with nothing but air. Using her momentum, she spun completely about to come face to face with Abraham, when she brought the bottom of her staff upwards, he met it with his own. A resounding crack of wood reverberated around the chamber, its intensity indicating that neither sibling was interested in holding back.

Thus began a delicate but brutal dance across the padded mats, a combination of expert footwork and carefully timed strikes. The rapid crack-crack of staff upon staff continued to ring out as Willow and Abraham duelled, using every inch of the space available to them.

While Abraham clearly had the power, Willow was quick and agile, managing to dodge around Abraham's slower blows and dart in with strikes of her own. After receiving several quite painful jabs to his ribs and gut, Abraham decided that he would not hold back and pressed forward with his staff swinging. In blocking her brother's sweeps and thrusts, Willow was driven back towards the wall behind her. Before she could run out of space altogether and be forced to concede, Willow turned and, with barely a pause, ran up the wall behind her. She kicked off from the wall and somersaulted over Abraham's head. While he was already turning when she landed behind him on light feet, he was not fast enough and she was able to deliver several rib cracking blows before finally humiliating him completely by sweeping his feet out from beneath him. Abraham crashed to the mats in a tangle with his staff.

Although her brother was down, Willow planted the heel of her boot in his chest as he tried to rise. With a grunt Abraham fell flat against the floor. A small grin broke out on Willow's face at her rather conclusive victory and she stepped back, indicating that he could haul himself to his feet without receiving further blows.

As soon as the bout was over, Willow's previously clear mind became busy once more, busy with recollections from earlier that evening. She had lied to her brother. The actress in _The School for Scandal_ had indeed born more than a passing resemblance to Tara - and she had done nothing other than dwell on her all evening. Even when she had been surrounded by the simpering fools vying for her attention.

As he rose to his feet Abraham could see that although Willow was standing just in front of him, she was actually somewhere else. Her eyes were glazed as she stared at some indeterminable spot, not seeing the walls of the chamber at all. There was a tiny crease just between her eyes as though she were struggling with something in her mind.

"Will?"

"I'm sorry, I was just gone for a moment." Willow tossed her staff in the direction of the racks and it clattered to the floor, she was wiping the sweat from her brow when she turned back to face Abraham, "It has been only three years, almost four since I last saw her and the passage of time is already ravaging my memories of her."

"I am sorry," Abraham replied genuinely. "But people forget…even the ones they love the most, it does not mean we loved them any less…just perhaps that it is time to move on…"

"I do not wish to forget!" Willow interrupted a fierce whisper. "She was so exceptionally kind and good…so beautiful and I loved her. I love her still, Abraham. The passing years are not diminishing my pain, only increasing it as I forget. I cannot remember her scent when I pressed my nose close to her skin…only that I think that it was the most wonderful scent I had ever known. I cannot remember the taste of her lips and her flesh, I know only that they were sweet."

Willow felt the dreaded tears burn at her eyeballs but she set her lips stoically, she did not wish to cry. Crying was a luxury that belonged to the past; she had a new life now and a new purpose. There was no place for tears in the life of a demon hunter.

"Yet overriding all of that…all my actual memories of her is the awful thought that the thing that has her body, her memories, is still out there," Willow said it in a whisper as though she hardly even wanted to admit it to herself. "I've spent three years killing vampires…and every night I go out, every shape I see in the darkness, I expect to see the thing that looks like her."

"You're scared that you will not be able to destroy it?" Abraham asked, turning his back on Willow and crossing to the racks so she could not see the uneasy expression on his face.

Abraham replaced his own staff and then retrieved Willow's fallen one, when he turned around she was still standing in the same spot with an anguished expression on her face.

"Yes," Willow whispered. "And no…mostly I worry that if I do see the demon then that image will completely and irreversibly replace all those I have of Tara, and she will be gone for good."

Abraham could not deny that Willow's fear made sense, he could think of nothing to say except the truly banal. "You may never see the demon."

While Willow had often hoped that would be the case, she knew in her very bones that it would be foolish indeed to believe it would be true. There were other forces at work in her life, forces which she did not understand but she knew them to be influencing the way she lived her life, the choices she made…and ultimately those forces would bring her into contact with the demon she feared above all others.

She did not tell Abraham this; it would only cause him to worry. Instead Willow made a mental note to broach the subject with Giles when she felt ready. The old gentleman seemed to have an answer for everything…even if she sometimes could not stand his regimented routine and constant pressure to keep learning about her foe. Willow had never wanted to read books. All she wanted to do was kill demons.

While Willow had been engaged in thought, Abraham had returned to stand close to her, he reached out and cupped her cheek. "Close your eyes, Will."

To humour her brother, Willow sighed and slowly slid her eyelids closed over her burning eyeballs. The ensuing darkness was empty and barren, just like her dreams of late. The only thing that kept her from opening her eyes as quickly as she closed them was the reassuring contact of Abraham's calloused palm and fingers.

"She's still there. Dig a little and push aside the last three years as though they never happened…remember Hagley Park, the Grecian summerhouse in the grounds…and how you loved it so. I knew whenever I couldn't find you; you would be with Tara in that summer house."

"We sought privacy for a very good reason," Willow added, cheeks colouring as she remembered the day Abraham had interrupted them.

"Because you loved her…and more than anything in the world you wanted to be alone with her, this beautiful woman whose face fills your thoughts."

Abraham's voice was immensely soothing and Willow found herself slipping back to the hours she had spent with Tara in that summerhouse. They reclined in the shade, cut off from the world by the boughs of leafy green trees that surrounded them. She remembered holding Tara close against her body, as though wrapping her arms as tightly as possible would be enough to keep them together no matter what. Tara was laughing in response to a comment Willow had made, her entire body shaking with mirth in Willow's arms. When Willow opened her eyes she realised that she was smiling.

"Much better," Abraham nodded, satisfied with his efforts, he withdrew his hand and stretched his entire body in a catlike movement. "I think you've managed to exhaust me yet again. My pillow is calling me."

"It is late," Willow replied, although she still strangely did not feel tired.

Willow followed her brother upstairs, passing back through the bookcase and absently closing it behind her. They continued upstairs to the second floor where Willow stopped just outside her door with the smile on her face growing slightly wider.

"White roses," Willow whispered.

Abraham paused at the door to his own room. "What was that, Will?"

A small smiled crossed Willow's face as she met his gaze. "Her scent...it was like white roses."

* * *

As Willow slept that night, her dreams returned and she dreamed of those same white roses. In her dream she held a stem in her hand. Upon it was a single bloom with its petals only just unfolding from their bud-like state.

_Willow brought the rose up to her nose and inhaled, letting the intoxicating scent invigorate her entire body, she felt the smooth petals tickle her nostrils and she laughed lightly. She turned to the naked body laid out beside her and began trailing the rose over the pale stomach. Its owner gasped as it tickled, Willow glanced up to the woman's face and her smile broadened. _

_Splayed back against the pillows, Tara watched as her lover trailed the rose over her naked body, teasingly circling both mounds of her breasts before concentrating on her pink nipple. She watched the redhead move over her body, her own flesh naked and pale in the dim light of the room. _

_As Willow brushed one of Tara's nipples lightly with the flower she could see it engorge and harden. She could not resist ducking her head to take the generous parcel of flesh into her mouth. Above her, she heard Tara let out a breathy moan and intensified her efforts, working over the budding nipple until it was angry and red. She then followed the same path that the flower had traced earlier, down over Tara's stomach, past her navel and to the apex of Tara's thighs. _

_Willow tossed the flower to on side; it was forgotten as she found the real scent she sought, deep, mysterious and musky. She inhaled once again, although this time it was the golden hairs covering Tara's mound which tickled her nostrils and this time she did not laugh. Instead she used gentle fingers to spread open the folds of Tara's sex, the aroma hit her with its intensity and she felt almost giddy as she dipped down to finally taste her. _

"_No, Will," Tara whispered quietly, sitting up so she could reach out and take Willow by the chin, drawing her away from her goal. A frustrated Willow returned her calm gaze, searching for answers in Tara's stare as she continued speaking. "You cannot…you need to move on with your life."_

"_I am moving on with my life!" Willow protested, her annoyance giving way to anger as Tara continued to hold her at bay. "I kill demons for a living...and I am bloody good at it"_

"_That's not what I meant, Willow, and you know it," Tara replied sadly. "Your feelings for me are still holding you back from all that you can be in this life. Someone as passionate as you are needs to be able to love again."_

"_But I love you," Willow nuzzled against Tara's hand which now cupped her cheek._

"_I know you do, darling…but a dream cannot give you what you need."_

"_Okay, are you really telling me this…or is this just my sex starved subconscious?" Willow commented dubiously, she was positive that dreams were supposed to at least grant the fulfilment of some of your desires…not deny you outright. _

"_Do you really need there to be a difference?" Tara answered Willow's question with a cryptic one of her own. "The message is the same either way - you need to live your life."_

_Willow was adamant in her final reply, "There will never be anyone else for me…not ever."_

When Willow woke there was no moment of groggy disorientation as she shook off the bonds of sleep. Instead she immediately rose and swung her legs over the side of the bed. When she stood she felt the cool temperature hit her naked body but she did not rush to cover herself with clothes. She padded across the floor to her large mirror and examined the reflection she found there. As often as she had seen her own reflection as she arranged her hair or attended to other matters of her toilet, she had never really stopped to examine the changes that the past few years had brought about in her body. Although she had been naturally blessed with creamy pale skin, she was even whiter now as a result of sleeping during the day…just like her prey. The freckles that had for so long covered the bridge of her nose had faded into nothingness. The lack of colour in her skin made her green eyes and vibrant red hair stand out all the more. Willow ran her fingers through the strands, where once they had been long enough to reach the small of her back, they were no cropped just above her shoulders like a man's. Her hair could be clubbed back out of her way with little fuss.

The biggest changes however, had taken place with her body. While Willow had been an active young lady, there had always been a comfortable, well-rounded feel about her hips and thighs, desirable features in a well-bred young lady of course. Any trace of that had now disappeared as Willow ran her hands over her taut stomach and down over her lean flanks. When she flexed her arm the well-toned muscles rippled beneath her skin in a menacing fashion, as though hinting at the danger that could be unleashed.

Despite all the changes that had taken place, Willow was still very much a woman and the dream had brought that little fact screaming to the forefront of her mind. As she ran her hands over her erect nipples, she wondered why her subconscious had suddenly decided to remind her of her physical needs and the fact that she had not shared her bed with another woman since Tara. Willow sighed and quickly moved to cover herself up instead of moodily dwelling on a fact which she did not want to have to address.

The clothes she pulled on had changed somewhat over the years too as she had developed and refined a costume in response to the requirements involved in her line of work. The breeches she pulled on were black-dyed doe skin, being warm for the cold night air but suppler than the leather preferred by Christopher Croft. They fit her legs closely, leaving little fabric to be snagged as she climbed walls or moved through forest. The black boots she pulled on up over the breeches were of the finest leather and reached just below her knees. She then tugged on one of her many black shirts, it lacked the full sleeves that were in fashion as Willow had quickly realised that too much fabric on the arms hindered the free flowing movement necessary to stay alive when duelling with a demon. Atop this she fastened a breastplate and a smaller backplate that had been moulded perfectly to fit her shape, their black lacquer coatings pitted and scratched with the scars of countless duels. Around her waist she strapped her sword and daggers, weapons which had become as familiar as her own two arms. The London streets in December were bitingly cold, so she tugged on a thick leather coat, lined with black sable it was warm without being heavy. Intricate black embroidery trailed down the coat, from its high neck that brushed against her jawline, down over the lapels and to the hem. The pockets sewn into the lining of her coat could contain all the additional tricks of the trade, stakes, and spare bolts when she carried a crossbow and any number of Giles' little inventions – the exploding fire bomb being her favourite. Finally she pulled on a pair of leather gloves that would kept her grip sure even in the winter air.

Willow wasted no time in checking her outfit in the mirror before she headed out into the night air, choosing to use her window as an exit rather than risk disturbing Abraham. She clambered over the sill and down onto the ledge from where she could safely drop to the ground below. Her booted feet hit without a sound and she was running off into the night without a pause.

Trouble never took long to find Willow Van Helsing, possibly because she always sought out the darkest streets, the most notorious demon haunts where even a lowlife would not venture once sun had set. Her reputation amongst the creatures of the night had grown to the point that only the newest or the stupidest actually threatened her as though she were potential prey, the rest had learnt not to be so bold when it came to viewing Willow Van Helsing as a potential meal.

The vampire that found Willow on this particular evening was a combination of both new and stupid…and also drunk, if the half empty bottle in his hand was anything to go by. As he approached on bandy, unsteady legs, Willow idly wondered if it were even possible for vampires to become intoxicated.

"You might want to put that bottle down, demon!" Willow threw back the folds of her coat so he could see the hilts of her sword and dagger. "It would be unsporting if you were disadvantaged in any way."

The vampire scowled and answered Willow by dashing the base of his bottle against the wall behind him; it shattered to leave him holding its neck like a jagged weapon. He jabbed it towards Willow who easily avoided it and every single desperate swing or jab that followed. She was growing a little bored when her foot suddenly slipped on a pile of rotting garbage beneath her. Although she did not fall to the ground, she was caught off guard for just a moment. It was long enough for the vampire to strike. Willow had little time to move as the bottle swept towards her throat. She managed to duck but she was not quite fast enough, rather than pass harmlessly over her head, a jagged edge of glass sliced into her forehead.

The vampire cackled jubilantly but could not take advantage of his wounding Willow; he realised seconds later that he had merely angered her and hastened his demise. As Willow drew her silver sword, he dashed the bottle to the ground and pointed a trembling finger in her direction.

"Your vampire slaying days are almost at an end, human!" he spat.

"Oh, pray tell me why is that?" Willow arched an eyebrow, hardly worried.

"You can kill two or three of us at a time-"

"Try ten!" Willow growled.

The vampire merely cackled once again. "Try thousands!"

Willow paused, her eyes narrowed. "What do you mean by thousands you slimy little blood rat?"

"It's upon us!" the vampire seemed so immensely pleased that he was practically dancing on the spot, his wiry legs doing an awkward jig. "The Covasna Resurrection…our master has found it and he will again reclaim his power!"

Willow immediately recognised the word 'Covasna' but she could not remember from. She sighed when she realised it was probably from her reading…she could already hear Giles saying 'I told you so.' Surging forward, she swept the vampire back against the wall behind it and held her sword to its throat.

"I never thought that I would say this to a demon," Willow muttered to herself before demanding. "Continue talking!"

"What are you going to do if I talk?" the vampire inquired. Willow's sword already started to dig into his dead flesh. "Spare me?"

"Don't be bloody stupid," Willow growled. "I'll chop your head off faster."

Even as she said it Willow groaned inwardly, she knew she was not cut out for interrogating demons and her lack of experience at doing it showed. She preferred the hunt and the kill and left all other business up to Christopher and Abraham. Seeing as she was not about to get anything out of a creature that she would never ever spare, Willow pressed her razor sharp blade forward. Slowly but surely, the blade sliced through skin, muscle and bone as the vampire writhed in her grip. Before her blade had passed all the way through the creature's neck, it exploded into dust, showering Willow from head to toe.

"Great!" Willow spat out a mouthful of foul tasting grit and glanced down to see her favourite coat covered in a layer of dust.

She did not linger looking for more prey, instead she turned and began the long trek towards Montagu House even as blood trickled down the side of her face. Something told her that she needed to consult Giles as soon as possible.

* * *

"I don't usually take notice of their manic ravings," Willow paused to blow gently on her tea. As always, Giles had made it too hot. "But this one had such fervour in his eyes it almost scared…well, not quite scared, it worried me. Do you have any idea what he was referring to with the 'Covasna Resurrection?' It is familiar but I cannot place it."

Willow had returned from her hunt and proceeded directly to Montagu House where she had woken Giles from his short slumber. He had not long been home after patrolling the streets with Christopher. Far from being annoyed, the librarian had simply pulled on a robe, made tea for them both and was now perched alertly on the corner of his desk in his office. Willow was still running on adrenaline from her hunt, she paced the floor and constantly kept twirling her dagger in her fingers.

"Yes, Willow," Giles replied with a grave sigh. "I do indeed know what he is referring to and if this proves to be more than ideal underworld gossip, then I fear that we may be about to face the greatest challenge this small organisation has ever known. Stop looking so hopeful! This is not a game, it is a challenge which may very well see all of us dead."

Despite Giles warning, Willow continued to wear an expression that was not unlike that of a cat that had learnt the location of a very large barrel of cream. "So this Covasna thing…what is it?"

"It is not a 'thing' Willow, it is a place. Once upon a time it was completely unknown, an untouched wilderness, now however it is a particularly evil spot where I would not care to venture again."

Giles crossed to the shelves holding the over-sized books in his collection and withdrew an exceptionally large volume which he almost seemed to have difficultly in lifting. He deposited it on his desk with a loud thud, rattling everything else on it. Willow finally ceased her pacing and stood on the other side of the desk, watching as he turned massive pages covered in maps of Europe. He finally stopped on a particular page and stabbed his finger on a small plateau high in a mountainous region of Transylvania, a principality of Austria.

"Covasna?" Willow asked, seeing no name marked on the map, as Giles nodded she studied the map harder, a small frown marring her features. "The name is familiar to me...why is that?"

Giles rolled his eyes, "If you had read 'An account of the life of Vlad Tepes' as I instructed you-"

"I did read it!" Willow interrupted suddenly, in her excitement she stabbed her dagger downwards into Giles's desk where it stood embedded in the wood. "Covasna…there was an enormous battle there…his last army was defeated there by a German Prince in 1476."

Giles was so surprised he ignored Willow's defilement of his desk, "How is it that you remember the exact date?"

Willow shrugged with a teasing smile. "I am not as stupid as I look."

"I am very well aware of that, Willow," Giles sighed dramatically. "You could be a brilliant scholar if only you put your mind to it."

"Well, I prefer killing things with pointy objects," Willow announced decisively. "Anyway, back to this place - Covasna. So Dracula was defeated, his once blood-thirsty army slaughtered. I remember thinking the book was a little light on detail about that particular event."

"For good reason," Giles continued. "Dracula did not possess just an army; he possessed an army that could not be defeated."

"But the book said-"

"Yes, he was eventually defeated…but only because a powerful warlock discovered the secret at great personal cost, it was he who went to this German Prince and convinced him that the army could be defeated if Dracula's captain was killed…you see the captain was the key, Dracula had used him to bind the whole army together, into one unstoppable force that ravaged the land for years…the men in that army could be wounded with ordinarily fatal blows but they would continue to fight…severed limbs grew back, men fought without heads."

"Fascinating!" Willow interjected enthusiastically.

"It wasn't so fascinating for those who were killed," Giles continued solemnly.

Willow immediately wiped the expression from her face. "So someone killed the captain?"

"Yes," Giles nodded. "The Prince, one of the bravest and most just men that has ever walked the face of the Earth, Conrad the Bold. He severed the captain's head following an epic duel during which he pushed himself beyond the limits of exhaustion. Even with their captain's death, the Wallachian army fought on for three days until the last of them were slaughtered. The warlock had the prince take the severed head of the captain back with him to Germany, firstly so that the populace could see that Vlad's reign of terror was well and truly over…and secondly because he knew that if Dracula ever managed to reunite the head with the body, the captain and his army would rise anew from the dust of Covasna. He tried to regain it of course…until the warlock finally took it to the ends of the earth where it has remained for over three hundred years."

Willow was momentarily struck speechless, that was at least until he brain process all the information Giles had just related. She immediately frowned as she came to her conclusion. "So…the resurrection of which that toady spoke this evening…he meant that Dracula had found the skull and was going resurrect his army?"

"I do not see how he could possibly have found the skull…perhaps he has not and is merely attempting to draw its location out into the open…even so, I cannot take the change that it will fall into his hands. I must confirm for myself that the skull is as safe as it was the day I last saw it."

Willow was once again struck speechless, this time for almost a full minute as her mind chewed over this latest startling revelation. She looked back and forth between the map and Giles, studying his face for the slightest hint that he was jesting with her.

"Giles…this battle was fought in 1476. I do not see how it would be possible…"

"I am indeed the warlock of the tale, Willow," Giles nodded serenely, smiling slightly at her rather desperate attempt to understand the secret he had just revealed to her. "I was younger then, just as handsome of course…but now I am over four hundred years old. My longevity a side effect of the power I wield."

"But Giles, I've known you for three years and I have never seen you perform an act of magic." Willow raised her eyebrows hopefully as though Giles might show her something.

"Willow, magic must never ever be used for trivial matters. Every expenditure comes at great personal cost…even so…"

Giles lifted his hand to the gash just above Willow's eyebrow. Willow winced at the gentle contact on the open wound but seconds later she felt her skin grow suddenly taut and hot. When Giles let his hand fall, the stinging pain was gone. She touched her forehead and felt nothing but smooth, unblemished skin there. Even as she stared incredulously at Giles, he appeared to be distracted already, his mind elsewhere.

"Do you suffer from sea sickness, Willow?" Giles enquired suddenly, he plucked Willow's dagger from his desk and held it towards her, hilt first.

Willow withdrew her hand from feeling the skin at her forehead and reclaimed her dagger. She slid it back into the sheath at her side.

"I think not…although of course to date I have only ever sailed across the Channel," Willow replied, pleased that she could now frown without pain. "Why?"

"Because you and I are going on a little trip."

"Europe?" Willow asked eagerly.

"No." Giles smiled. "Nippon."


	17. Land of the Rising Sun

**CHAPTER SEVENTEEN  
Land of the Rising Sun**

She knew as she approached the hallowed gates of Bran Castle that she would come face to face with her lord and master for the first time. As twisted and cruel as she herself was she could not deny feeling a certain amount of apprehension. Above her the steep walls of the castle rose abruptly, a deterrent to enemies and friends alike. Even higher still, tall towers rose into the air to be topped by steeply pitched turrets. It was a foreboding place, the air thick with an immense power that came from the master himself.

Her feet barely made a sound on the wooden drawbridge but the silence was shattered a moment later when the mighty iron portcullis barring her way rose of its own accord. It ascended into its niche above and she walked through into the dark courtyard. There were others there of course, his black armoured guards had watched her from the moment she came into view of the castle. Other hangers-on lurked in the shadows, sycophants and lesser demons, basking in the distant presence of their master. She bypassed them all, a slender figure swathed entirely in a cloak as black as night, the cowl of her hood leaving her face in shadow.

She was silently admitted to the castle keep by two guards, they simply stepped aside as she swept past them. Although she had never visited Bran Castle before, she knew exactly where he was, she could feel his presence drawing her ever closer to him. The corridors of the castle were narrow and dark, only lit by burning torches set sporadically in brackets along the walls. Dark tapestries further added to the sense of narrowness. She did not need to look at them to know that they depicted her master's many victories in battle…although none depicted the battle at Covasna. None spoke of his greatest defeat and the loss of his mighty army.

As she entered the great hall, she felt a sense of elation so overwhelming she felt that she ought to fall forward and prostrate herself on the ground. Instead she kept striding forward, her walk still the same graceful glide she had maintained throughout the castle to this point. The hall was shrouded in darkness, its fire dead and cold. A few torches burned, casting desperate fingers out into the gloom but losing their war against the shadows. Purposefully she strode into the darkness, walking towards the head of the great hall and the dim outlines she could see. Although she was not trying to stare, she could see the outline of a mighty throne, dull gold gleaming in the faint light. Someone was seated at its centre but she averted her eyes, instead staring at the massive skull mounted high on the wall overhead. It belonged to no animal that she had ever known to walk the earth, a cruel beast with foot long fangs and thick horns even longer. Older demons swore that the beast had been a favourite pet.

Just a few metres short of the throne, she finally went down onto one knee, knowing that she could not possibly approach further without his blessing. Her cloak settled around her gracefully as she rested her hands on her bent knee and bowed her head. She heard him shift and knew that he was now standing above her. Heavy footsteps sounded as he moved down the stairs towards her but still she did not look up. Finally the toes of his booted feet came into her view. Her entire body trembled with anticipation, her heart that had not beat for several years, still felt as though it might beat once again in his presence. She then felt fingers brush her forehead, they were icy cold but she did not notice their temperature, instead she noticed the jolt the touch sent coursing through her body. The fingers moved, gently pushing the cowl of her cloak backwards from her head. It fell to her shoulders and exposed her white blonde hair. Next he gently held her chin, tilting her face upwards to meet his gaze directly.

She could do nothing but gasp. Nothing she had ever heard, no amount of speculation or gossip could ever have prepared her for the reality of him. His face held her gaze, she was unable to tear herself away from his black eyes, completely devoid of white or any other colour, and she doubted she could ever draw her gaze away again. His black eyes were set into a visage of unimaginable beauty that she thought might be labelled godlike. Everything was in perfect proportion, from his hawk-like brow and strong nose to his full, slightly parted lips. Thick waves of black hair were swept back from his face and curled down to the nape of his neck. His lips parted in a smile to reveal dazzlingly white teeth.

"I had heard whispers of your beauty, but now that I see you in the flesh I must admit that the rumours were largely untrue." Even his voice was perfect, the deep tones soothing and intoxicating. "You are far lovelier than words can describe, Tara."

"You are too kind, Master," Tara murmured, her blood red lips barely moving.

"I speak only the truth," he replied solemnly. "Before we engage in idle conversation I know you wish an explanation of me, an explanation as to why you have been restrained from pursuing the love of your mortal existence."

Tara nodded slowly. "Yes…and I do not understand why you would bestow your attentions on me. I am but one of many, and weak, very weak still."

His smiled broadened. "You are many things Tara, but weak is definitely not one of them. Besides your beauty, I have also heard whispers of an amazing gift that manifested itself shortly after your turning…show me."

Tara swallowed awkwardly and tried to keep her fear hidden as she held up her palm in front of her master. She murmured a brief word and seconds later a small flame flickered into existence and hovered above her palm. Her Master's lips parted in awe.

"Truly wonderful," he whispered. "While every vampire fears fire…you can create it. Is this the extent of it, or can you do more?"

"Much more, my Lord," Tara admitted without boasting. "Although I am still exploring my limits, I think there is still more to uncover and to learn."

He nodded, pleased. "I see my feelings about you are entirely justified."

"My Lord?" Tara was confused, her brow furrowed slightly.

"Do not look so worried, Tara," he laughed lightly. "I would not have you join my harem unwillingly, although in seeing your beauty I am sorely tempted. I have another task for you, one which I think is far closer to your own desires."

"Willow," Tara whispered, the name still sent a thrill coursing through her body, every fibre of her screaming to seek out that particular human and her blood.

"Willow Van Helsing," he nodded in agreement.

Tara was surprised. "You know of her, my Lord?"

"Indeed I do, and if I had not kept you isolated in Greece, you too would know why. Your love, Willow Van Helsing, has become the most feared demon hunter in England…seeking out and killing our kind in particular with an awesome passion…a passion for vengeance, no doubt for the murder of her loved one."

Tara bristled slightly, her voice was fierce when she replied. "I was not murdered, I was granted immortality…and Willow will share that with me as soon as I am given leave to pursue her and free her from the mortal coil!"

Although Tara had been more than surprised to learn of Willow's newfound occupation, she suppressed this quickly, instead her face burned with a fierce determination. For her own immortal sanity, she needed to turn Willow Van Helsing, to sink her fangs into the white skin at her throat and in turn have her drink from her own vampire blood. She needed Willow to be with her, for the past three years she had suffered the embarrassing torment of longing for her mortal lover. It was a torment that she would not admit to of course, but one she knew she could ease by inviting Willow to join her in immortality. However, her efforts to get close to Willow were curtailed when an elder vampire, Angelus, had requested her to join him in an embassy to the Greek vampires…Tara was loath to leave Willow even further behind, but she could not disobey. For three years she had suffered Willow's absence…now, as she journeyed back towards the land of her mortal life, she hoped to finally have the opportunity to see Willow once more.

"That you shall Tara…that you shall…but at the time of my choosing," he intoned softly.

"I do not mean to be insolent my Lord, but what care you for Willow Van Helsing?" Tara met his gaze brazenly, a small measure of anger creeping into the corners of her mouth at the thought of her master denying her access to the women she craved.

"Oh…I do believe that Willow Van Helsing will cross our paths very soon." He said as he cupped her face in his hands and smoothed away the tight lines that marred her face, instantly reassuring her. "Our time is coming Tara…and I have a very special and vital role for you to play."

Dracula's lips curled upwards in a bizarre smile as Tara's shining face gazed adoringly back at him.

* * *

Willow Van Helsing was perched as foremost as she could possibly be on the forecastle of the Van Amstel, her chest resting on the bowsprit as she watched the bow of the ship slice into the water beneath her. Much of her red hair was contained beneath a white rag, knotted at the nape of her neck in the fashion of sailors. The rest of her outfit was also suited for sea travel, although she retained her black doe-skin breeches, she had replaced her usual black shirt with a billowing white one and her boots with a pair of soft soled deck shoes. She turned at the sound of a loud cough and saw her friend and mentor, Rupert Giles climbing the ladder to the forecastle, his glass stained with salt. A grin spread quickly across her face and she leapt down from her perch to face Giles.

"Ahoy there, Giles!" Willow greeted him enthusiastically.

If Giles was surprised to see Willow actually out of her cabin, he did not let it show on his face. The surprise would have been justified given the fact that for the entire first two weeks of their voyage Willow had done little but lie on her bunk in her cabin and heave up every morsel of food that she attempted to eat. However, as he looked at her now she appeared to be a picture of health with a rosy glow to her cheeks. Several strands of red hair had escaped from beneath the rag and were whipping about her face. Giles inwardly reminded himself that he really had to do something about her vibrant red hair before they arrived in Japan.

"Sea life seems to be agreeing with you at long last," Giles commented with a smile.

"Now that I can actually stand on deck without running for the railing every minute, I must say that sailing is quite agreeable," Willow announced with a firm nod of her head.

She turned back to stand at the railing of the forecastle and Giles crossed to join her. He was a little unnerved by the way Willow was hanging out over the railing, perched so precariously that a sudden wave could have easily thrown her overboard. Willow seemed not to care; there was a broad smile on her face of the like Giles had rarely seen over the past three years. Although three years in his long life was a relatively brief span of time, he felt as if he had known the young woman for much longer and had come to care for her a great deal. At any rate, she often treated him with the disrespect a young person would show to their father…especially when it came to any task she did not want to do.

"I do hope Abraham is alright though," Willow added quietly. "I've spent time apart from him before when he was with his regiment…but I've never been this far away from him, he could always come to me if I needed him."

"I think Abraham will be just fine," Giles attempted to reassure her. "If all goes well, we will be back home next year…it will be like you never left!"

Willow did not appear convinced, but it was the last she mentioned of Abraham. Giles was not to know that she had promised her brother she would not miss him dreadfully…although promising and then doing were entirely two different kettles of fish. She turned her mind to other matters, in particular one which she had wanted to ask Giles for some time but feared offending him.

"You know Giles, there's something I've been thinking about for the past few weeks," Willow began, finally brushing her salty hair out of her face and tucking it back beneath the knotted rag on her head. "It's all very well and good hiding the skull…but people find even the most well hidden things, why didn't you just destroy it? You know, smash the darned thing with a very large hammer?"

"Now that is a good idea!" Giles slapped the palm of his hand firmly against the ship's railing.

"It didn't cross your mind…say…three hundred years ago?" an incredulous Willow asked with just the tiniest hint of derision in her voice.

It was then that Giles turned to give Willow a look of glacial murder and she immediately realised that she had completely missed the sarcasm in his response. Given that Giles did not ordinarily resort to sarcasm, his delivery was terrible.

"Oh…of course you thought of destroying it," Willow mumbled, somewhat chastened for her hasty words, however she didn't waste any time with an apology. "Why didn't you?"

Giles wiped the angry expression from his face with an awkward smile. "I am sorry Willow, your comment just brought to mind my original frustration in being unable to destroy the skull. Conrad tried the simple approach, he swung the mightiest war axe he could lift to cleave the skull into pieces but it killed him."

"It…it killed him?" Willow asked incredulously.

"As he struck the skull, it was his own body that was torn open and he fell dead at my feet." Giles appeared immensely sad, as though the Prince's death had occurred just yesterday. "Everything I tried since, all manner of magicks, failed. My only option was to carry it to the ends of the earth and hide it from Dracula…as poor a solution as it was. For the past three hundred years I have been researching a spell that would work, but I fear I am no closer today than I was then."

Giles sighed and removed his glasses, scrubbing them violently with the sleeve of his shirt. Even Willow could see that he regarded his inability to destroy the skull as a serious shortcoming on his part. The fact that he could do nothing to remove such evil from the world meant that he was rendered helpless despite all his magicks and knowledge and it laid him bare to the bone.

"Giles…" Willow began awkwardly, unsure of what to say.

He replaced his glances and glanced across at her. "It is nothing you should worry about, Willow, we will go to Japan, confirm the security of the skull and possibly move it…and go home, back to our normal lives."

Willow had to smile at the manner in which Giles said 'normal lives,' as if killing demons for a living was the same as being a teacher or a lawyer. However, Giles managed to ruin her humorous mood a few moments later when he withdrew a thick book from the inside of his coat and handed it to her. She eyed the book warily before taking it.

"A dictionary of Japanese?" Willow went from staring at the cover to staring at Giles with an annoyed expression on her face.

"It's a long voyage, Willow," Giles nodded towards the book. "But it's also a difficult language, you might want to start reading."

"Everybody should just speak English…it would make things so much easier," Willow huffed in a frustrated manner.

She made a great show of opening the book and then propped it up on the railing in front of her as though to suggest to Giles that she might possibly slip and let it fall overboard. One of his sternest glances told her that this would not be a very wise course of action and she quickly busied herself in a task she was particularly good at…pretending to read.

Giles sighed. "For a demon hunter, Willow, you are exceptionally narrow-minded."

* * *

When they finally did reach land after almost eight months of sailing, Willow was by no means proficient in the Japanese language despite Giles' best efforts. However he was confident that she would at least be able to great her hosts with some amount of formality.

Greeting the locals was the last thing on Willow's mind as the Van Amstel sailed into Nagasaki harbour; her main concern was feeling solid ground beneath her feet once more, even if it was a tiny artificial island off the coast of Japan proper. The one thing she was not impressed with however was the fact that Giles had insisted she dye her red tresses black in order to avoid sticking out like a sore thumb amongst the Dutch men and black-haired Japanese. So it was a raven haired Willow Van Helsing that disembarked in Dejima from the Van Amstel, some of her usual swagger definitely missing. Her swagger was eroded completely when the tense looking Japanese official perched on the dock indicated that she was to hand over all her weapons immediately. Willow turned to Giles for confirmation and the warlock merely nodded but his eyes were stern, indicating that Willow should comply swiftly. It was almost like giving up her arm as she placed her sword and dagger on the table in front of the official. Then from her pockets she withdrew various smaller daggers, the odd cross bow bolt and a stake, by the time she had finished emptying her pockets of everything that could be considered a weapon, the official's eyes were bulging as he stared at her. Willow merely shrugged and moved from the water's edge, following Giles as he seemed to be headed towards an official-looking delegation of Japanese and fat Dutch merchants.

Giles had told her the island was small but she was surprised to find out just how small the fan-shaped island really was. It was home to at least twenty Dutchmen and almost twice as many more Japanese officials and guards, designed of course to keep the foreigners at arm's length from the sacred soil of Japan. The large city of Nagasaki was separated from Dejima by both the water, and a heavily guarded bridge.

Willow followed Giles's lead, she stopped when he stopped and bowed when he bowed, although she could not keep herself from staring at the Japanese. She had seen Chinamen in London fairly often, especially down by the docks, but they had all worn European garb. The Japanese were so foreign in their strange, elaborately embroidered robes, with their haughty, suspicious expressions that Willow was forced to acknowledge she really was on the other side of the world. She was immediately struck by a strange sensation, one of longing for mist rolling up over the Hampshire hills, for the familiar halls of Montague House and most of all for Abraham. It was with a sharp pang that Willow Van Helsing realised she was exceptionally homesick.

Giles was speaking to her, a short, wiry Japanese man at his elbow. Willow forced her attention away from her longings and into reality, to the very real situation in which she now found herself.

"Willow, this is Nakamura Kenji-san," Giles introduced her. "A dear friend of mine for many years. He will be helping us with our little task."

She bowed politely. "Pleased to meet you."

Kenji strode forward towards Willow. Despite the bulky clothes he wore and his small stature, she could see from the way he moved with grace and power that he was a formidable man indeed.

"The pleasure is mine, Willow Van Helsing," Kenji replied in heavily accented English. "Rupert has written many letters about you and the work you do - very impressive if even half of it is true!"

Willow smiled awkwardly beneath his intense gaze and after a few moments she had to look away. It was then that she noticed the young woman standing behind Giles and Kenji, her face cast downwards so that much of it was hidden behind her waves of raven black hair. Kenji noticed her looking and he smiled broadly, motioning the woman forward with a brief gesture.

"This is my daughter, Ayako," Kenji announced with great pride in his voice. "She will be your companion while you are with us and attend to your every need."

"I really don't have many needs-" Willow began to protest, desperately not wanting to offend anyone, least of all their hosts but she was cut short by a sharp stab in the ribs from Giles' elbow.

"So Willow-san…how much do you know about Dejima?" Kenji asked with a raised eyebrow.

Willow sighed imperceptibly, glad that she had at least completed some of the reading Giles had assigned her on the voyage, "I know it is the only point of contact for Dutch traders as no foreigner is allowed into Japan proper."

This one point had been a concern Willow had intended to raise with Giles but given that she had spent much of the voyage avoiding him for fear of being assigned further work, she had not quite got around to it. She simply expected that they would both be quite capable of stealing un-noticed onto the mainland and carrying out their task unseen. It was an element of the journey Willow had been looking forward to.

Kenji grinned but raised one finger to halt her recitation. "Aha! You are not quite correct, one time each year the Dutch Kapitan and an official delegation must travel to pay homage to the Shogun in our capital, Edo."

"It just so happens that we have arrived precisely at the right time to join them in their delegation to Edo," Giles nodded with satisfaction at their apparently fortunate timing.

Willow tried not to appear too disappointed but the thought of travelling as part of a pompous, official delegation was already causing her to groan inwardly.

Eager to fall asleep in a bed that did not sway with the ocean, Willow opted to follow Ayako to their lodgings rather than eat and drink with the rest of the ship's company and Giles. Giles had been waxing lyrical about something called 'sake' for the past few weeks. Willow had no idea what that was but she was sure it was something she was bound to dislike.

As she followed Ayako through Dejima's narrow streets, she was struck by the architecture of the buildings that lined either side of her, some rising two stories above. While she had no idea what Japanese houses were supposed to look like, she was sure it wasn't the distinctly European looking buildings with their neat shutters and gaudy colours.

Ayako obviously saw her confusion written plainly on her face. "Dutch people live in Dutch houses on Dejima. Tomorrow you will see how Japanese live when we begin our journey to Edo."

The Japanese girl inclined her head gracefully towards the not too distant edge of the island and Willow realised she could clearly see the shores of Nagasaki proper. She smiled in thanks and the two women continue walking in silence until they passed a small party of Dutch sailors whom Willow recognised from the Van Amstel. She immediately noticed a change in their behaviour from the deference they had shown her throughout the sea journey…but their rudeness was not directed towards her, but rather towards Ayako as they spoke Japanese.

Even though Willow could not understand a word of what they were saying, she knew much the connotations behind them from their rude gestures, the tenor of their voices and most of all from the red flush of embarrassment staining Ayako's cheeks. Willow quickly linked her arm through Ayako's and increased their pace, well aware that the earlier confiscation of her weapons now meant that she was completely unarmed. She hoped that the men would not be stupid enough to follow them. Giles would not want her involved in a brawl on the streets of Dejima, it would potentially ruin everything. The men's voices followed them down the short street but their footsteps did not. Willow breathed a sigh of relief when Ayako led her into a small house at the edge of the island.

As they entered, Willow immediately noticed a difference, while the façade was European, the interior was distinctly foreign. Rather than carpet, some sort of hard mat covered the floors. Ayako paused to remove her shoes and Willow followed suit with her boots, quickly slipping her feet into the pair of slippers indicated before the other girl could notice how dirty her feet were.

"Come, Willow-san, we will find you suitable Japanese attire and a bath and then we will eat." Ayako gently nudged Willow up a flight of stairs.

"A bath sounds wonderful…but I'm honestly not hungry," Willow protested, her stomach already reeling from just the thought of all manner of strange, exotic food.

Her protest fell on deaf ears as she was ushered in a low ceiled room with very little future save a table and a low bed. There were however bookshelves containing a wide variety of books. Willow scanned their spines and saw popular novels and work of non-fiction in Dutch, English and French. In the middle of the floor, surrounded by a white cloth, was a low wooden tub filled with steaming water. Red petals floated atop its surface. Willow gazed longingly at the water and a nearby sponge. When she turned back to face Ayako, she found that the young woman had moved to a closet of sorts with a sliding door. Inside were shelves of garments, although Willow could not tell their shape or form from the way that they were folded.

Willow studied Ayako's pale face in the failing light of day and decided that her first impressions of the young Japanese woman had indeed been correct. Although she had no idea of the Japanese standard for beauty, Ayako appeared truly pleasing to her own eyes. Her almond skinned face was round without being plump and her eyes dark to the point of being black, as black as the raven tresses which were arranged elaborately atop her head.

"Ayako, why were those men treating you so poorly just now? Surely they must respect a lady of rank?" Willow asked gently, wondering if she ought to be asking the question at all for fear of offending some custom.

Ayako turned with an armful of garments, she shook her head slightly. "Ladies of rank do not come to Dejima - only courtesans."

Willow lifted her eyebrows. "So the only women allowed on the island are prostitutes…and those men thought that you were one…but you're not, are you?"

She smiled in reply. "Would it matter if I were, Willow-san?"

It was Willow's turn to flush pink as she stammered out her lame reply. "No…no…of course not, I mean, it is a perfectly sensible option, especially given the lack of professions open to women."

Willow met Ayako's eyes more than a little awkwardly and seconds later the dark-eyed girl burst into a peel of rich laughter. Her own lips curled upwards, encouraged by the musical sound. She had not heard genuine laughter from a woman's lips for some time and she realised she had missed the sound immensely.

Ayako gently laid the garments she carried on the floor in front of Willow and then wrinkled her nose when she stood once more. Willow realised that she was looking with disgust at her dirty, salt stained men's clothes and immediately felt embarrassed by her appearance, especially in relation to the richly embroidered silk garment Ayako wore.

When her hands went to the topmost button of Willow's shirt, Willow realised that she meant to undress her and stopped her. She enclosed the tiny soft hands in her own before she could undo the first button. As Willow stood holding both Ayako's hands, she immediately felt the calluses covering the palms and the pads of her fingers and she knew them for what they were. Ayako had spent time using a sword and if the firmness of the calluses were anything to go by, she had spent a lot of time using a sword.

Ayako met her gaze calmly but offered no explanation as she drew her hands away; they disappeared into the wide sleeves of her garment. "I am sorry, Willow-san, I will leave you to bathe and return when you are done."

"T-thank you," Willow stammered because it was all she could think of to say in reply.

Ayako bowed her head and moved out of the room, Willow felt an element of something leave with her when she walked out of the room…a feeling she could not put a name to. Even so, it was gone a few moments later when Willow turned to look at the tub. It took seconds for her to strip off the dirty clothes and plunge herself into the water. She found it pleasantly warm over her feet and lower legs but realised quickly that the Japanese must bathe standing up. Willow pursed her lips together as though wondering whether she could fit and decided that she could. It took some manipulating of limbs, but eventually she was happily tucked into the tub, submerged up to her chest. She sat, listening to the quiet jostling of the water around her body and eventually her eyes lid closed.

_I am in Japan._ Willow could not quite believe it herself until she rolled those words over in her mind. _I am in Japan._ She was impossibly far away from everything and everyone she had ever known, Abraham, Christopher, Sam and Nancy, everyone except Giles…and the part of Tara she carried within her heart. _Tara, I am in Japan…are you still watching over me so far from home?_ Willow knew in her heart that she was.

When she opened her eyes once more, Willow could not tell how much time had passed. She had to stand to scrub herself and in doing so, realised that her dirty clothes had been removed. No doubt her Japanese host had taken them to be burnt.

Her new clothes caused her a great deal of confusion when she went to pull them on after towelling her skin dry. Instead of a shirt and a simple pair of breeches, there were great swathes of material which could have wrapped around her body in any number of ways. She sensed someone enter the room and turned to see a red-checked Ayako standing in the doorway.

"My apologies, Willow-san," she politely averted her eyes. "You need help?"

"Help!" Willow pleaded, awkwardly holding one piece of fabric against her body.

The Japanese girl entered the room, still keeping her head downcast as she selected the garments Willow ought to don first. She picked up the soft cotton under garments and Willow quickly shrugged into them, mortified at being naked in front of another person even for just a moment. Once the shirt and pants were securely tied and her modesty restored, Willow was able to relax significantly as Ayako showed her how to wear her kimono and the wide trousers known as hakama.

"You do this every day?" Willow asked as Ayako tied the pants at the small of her back to complete the outfit.

She glanced down at herself, feeling strange and yet oddly comfortable in the Japanese garments. She did not know if Ayako had chosen the emerald colour of the kimono to match her eyes but it was certainly gorgeous.

"This type of kimono is normally worn by a man," Ayako replied, another red flush creeping into her cheeks. "It takes less time."

"Oh," Willow mumbled, no doubt it was one of her quirks which Giles had seen fit to include in his letters to Kenji. She glanced up at Ayako's downcast face but could not tell what she was thinking, specifically whether she thought her abnormal because she preferred men's clothing.

Willow was not given an opportunity to explain herself before they headed back down the stairs for a light meal at the low table. Willow tried to kneel on the cushion in the same manner as her host but she found it extremely uncomfortable, instead she folded her legs in the manner of her childhood.

The food laid out was simple, rice, chicken, fish and some sort of stringy substance that looked like worms covered in a dark sauce. Willow looked for the knife and fork but found only two thin sticks. She looked to Ayako with a confused expression on her face only to see her expertly wielding the sticks in one hand, easily lifting food to her mouth.

"Chopsticks," Ayako inclined her towards the implements Willow was studying intently. "Like this."

Willow proved to be a quick study, only a few minutes into the meal she was able to at least get food into her mouth without sending it onto the floor or her lap. For all her fears regarding Japanese food, she found it to be light, refreshing and easy to eat. Despite her exhaustion, she enjoyed the meal and she ate in companionable silence with Ayako, the only sounds being the scraping of their chopsticks against the ceramic food bowls.

It was towards the end of the meal that Willow finally realised just how tired she really was, she could barely keep her eyes open long enough to guide her next scoop of rice into her mouth. As she often did when she was tired, she allowed her mind to wander at will and almost always it were her memories of Tara which resurfaced. Sometimes Willow did not want to lose the thought, she would remember a particular moment she had forgotten and often a smile would come unbidden to her face.

"You have lost someone," Ayako's quiet statement filtered through her thoughts.

Willow forced her half-lidded yes open and realised that her mind had probably been wandering for quite some time, the lump of rice sat uneaten in her mouth and she quickly chewed and swallowed. Willow did not ask how Ayako had come to that particular conclusion from just her expression; she merely replied simply, "I have."

"A lover?" Ayako asked in a bare whisper, as though it were exceptionally rude of her to ask such questions of a guest.

_A lover…my best friend…my whole world._ "Yes," Willow replied simply.

"When?"

"Four years ago." In saying it, Willow could still not bring herself to believe that much time had passed.

Willow quickly shovelled another scoop of rice into her mouth even though she had already eaten her fill. It felt strange to speak of Tara's death to an almost complete stranger and yet as she sat across the low table from Ayako she felt as though she could tell the Japanese girl everything.

"I am sorry, Willow-san," Ayako whispered quietly. "For your loss and for the pain you carry for so long."

"You should not be sorry," Willow replied after swallowing her mouthful of rice. "The loss and pain will always be present…but someone told me a while ago that I need to live my life, and I plan to."

Ayako ducked her head quickly, the simple motion reminding Willow very much of a certain blonde who would often do the same thing if she were embarrassed. It was at this point that Willow set down her chopsticks, unable to bear the thought of eating another bite, no matter how delicious it was.

"I think perhaps we should both sleep, our journey will be a long one," Ayako said quietly, rising to her feet.

Willow nodded, although the food had been excellent, she already felt it sitting in her stomach as a lump of hard rock. She was weary beyond words and already dreading the thought of travelling once more. She followed Ayako back to the bedroom, an unseen servant had removed the tub and the bed sheets were drawn back in an inviting manner. Stripping of the outer layer of her kimono, Willow practically tumbled onto the bed, not even caring when she discovered that there was no soft mattress beneath her body. Her head fell backwards onto the pillow and she found herself gazing up at the young Japanese woman, her dark eyes unreadable in the dim light. Willow closed her own eyes with an exhausted sigh.

Willow was already half-asleep when she felt a smooth but callused palm gently brush the side of her cheek. Almost instinctively, she reached out and caught the hand as it retreated.

"Willow-san."

At the sound of Ayako's voice, Willow opened her eyes to see the young woman's face above her in the darkness. Her lips were parted slightly and Willow could see the rapid rise and fall of her chest. She was undeniably lovely, the moonlight rendering her skin as smooth as marble, her eyes as black as obsidian and her hair as shining as silk.

"Forgive me. It is late and you need to rest," the Japanese woman whispered in a frightened voice. "I do not know what came over me."

"I do." Willow replied gently.

She used her firm grip on Ayako's hand to pull her downwards. With a soft gasp, Ayako fell, half onto the futon and half atop Willow's body. As though by instinct, Willow's lips were drawn towards Ayako's.

A myriad of thoughts jostled for position in her mind as their lips met. Ayako's lips felt both soft and firm against her own, the ache between her legs was so acute it was almost painful. She'd almost forgotten how thrilling it was to feel another woman's body in her arms. A coherent thought process was soon forced to the back of her mind, especially when she slipped a hand beneath Ayako's robe and felt the curve of a breast beneath her palm. All too abruptly all intimate contact disappeared and Willow was left staring up at Ayako's wide-eyed expression in the dim light. When she finally came to her senses and realised just how far she had let herself be dragged by her lust, Willow's cheeks grew hot with shame. More than likely the young Japanese woman had never known the lips of a lover, let alone the touch. She had introduced her to both with an impatience that bordered on brutality.

"I am sorry, Ayako," she whispered. The apology sounded hollow to her own ears. "I think it would be best if you left."

As Ayako eased herself away, there was a gracious smile on her face. "You have nothing to be sorry for, Willow-san," she replied, her voice trembling slightly. "You need to sleep."

Willow caught the edge of reluctance to her voice but she still rose determinedly from her side, the folds of her kimono falling about her body as she did so. As she moved from the room, Willow turned to face the opposite direction and quickly squeezed her eyes shut and clenched her fists, desperately willing the fierce hunger in her body to go away.

"Ayako?" Willow suddenly whispered in a hoarse voice.

Ayako had never left the room, remaining just inside the doorway and she clearly heard the young Englishwoman call out to her. For just a moment she felt elated but even as her lips parted to answer her whispered name Ayako knew that she could not respond. If she went to Willow now she knew that neither she nor Willow would have any control over what followed. Despite Willow's adamant statement earlier that evening, Ayako knew that the young woman was not ready to move on with her life.

Without answering Willow, she silently padded from the room. As she went to bed alone that night she could not help but feel angry towards the lover that held Willow in thrall even in death.

* * *

When Willow awoke the next morning, the sun was already streaming through the gaps in paper blinds and across the soft covers. She stretched her body in several directions and immediately discovered that sleeping on the floor had not agreed with her in the slightest. Her bones creaked and her back felt as stiff as a rod. Nevertheless she managed to rise and stare in confusion at the pile of clothing that she was supposed to be able to don. Although it had only been the previous evening, she could barely remember how each piece was supposed to go. Almost half an hour later, fervently glad that no one had been watching, Willow glanced down at herself and was satisfied she had achieved at least an approximation of Japanese garb.

When she descended the stairs, she noticed that a meal had been laid out on the table. Willow did not feel hungry in the slightest and instead continued outside where she could hear a cacophony of voices and other sounds. When she emerged she came upon a scene of well organised chaos. Several ornate palanquins and wagons were surrounded by both Dutch and Japanese men on horseback.

Willow had not noticed Ayako at first because she was not wearing the same style silk gown she had worn the day before, instead she was wearing garments similar to Willow as she sat astride her prancing horse, her hair bound in much the same manner as the men in a tightly bound topknot. When she saw Willow a small smile crossed her face. Willow's cautious approach had something to do with the awkward tension she felt in the presence of the Japanese woman, it was also due to the fact that she hated horses with a passion. She came to stand beside Ayako's horse and tentatively reached out to stroke its muzzle.

"Good morning, Willow-san," Ayako inclined her head slightly. "You sleep late indeed."

"I was very tired," Willow replied, managing a small smile of her own.

The two women stood in silence for a few moments, Willow awkwardly continuing to stroke the muzzle of Ayako's horse even though the very act was causing the hairs on the back of her neck to stand up. It was Willow who eventually broke the silence, knowing it was her apology to make.

"What happened last night…between us…" Willow began awkwardly.

"Nothing happened, Willow-san," Ayako replied quickly, her smile never faltering. "And that is how it will remain."

"Yes," Willow agreed, although she still could not manage to eliminate all traces of reluctance from her voice. However, as lovely as Ayako was Willow knew she only wanted the Japanese girl to satisfy the needs of her young body. She could not bring herself to let such a relationship develop further. Without love she would only be using the girl, and she hated to think of herself as a monster that would use women and discard them as it suited. In becoming such a person she would turn into the creature she despised above all others - Edward Walsh.

"Willow-san," Ayako interrupted her thoughts, Willow tried to meet her gaze confidently. "I am truly sorry for being such a beautiful woman."

Willow could not help but smile in response to the playful one which teased across Ayako's own lips, she spoke the truth, her beauty was a large part of Willow's problem. However, as Willow struggled to mount her own horse moments later, she realised that she had been placed in the perfect situation in which to move on from Tara. Here she was in a far away, foreign land with a beautiful young woman who felt something for her…She glanced ahead to try and find Giles in the melee but the only person she did manage to pick out was Kenji Nakamura staring at her in an unnerving manner. Willow sighed as she tentatively spurred her horse forward; it was going to be a very long journey.


	18. The Sea of Trees

**CHAPTER Eighteen  
The Sea of Trees**

The first two weeks of their journey to Edo proved relatively uneventful if a little awkward for Willow. Not only was she stuck on horseback, she had to contend with Ayako's continued close proximity. It was not that the Japanese girl was intentionally seeking her out but rather every time Willow turned around or looked ahead, Ayako was there. She would catch a glimpse of her dark eyes or the soft skin at the nape of her neck and her resolve would falter a little more each time. Although the Japanese scenery was completely foreign and seemed more than interesting enough to occupy everyone else in the delegation, Willow found that there were few sights that could draw her gaze away from the one place she did not want to look.

On one particularly grey morning, the delegation was nearing the end of its second week of travel when Giles motioned Willow to the side of the road. Willow sat on her horse, somewhat confused as they remained still and let the Dutch Kapitan and the rest of his men pass them by as they continued on their way to Edo. They were left with Kenji and Ayako Nakamura and two men whom Willow knew to be Kyuzo and Gorobei, brothers in the service of the Nakamura household. She could only tell the pair apart by the fact that Kyuzo had a crescent shaped scar on one cheek. Apart from the scar, they dressed identically and spoke in the same stilted tones. Both now nodded politely as they saw her staring at them and she replied with a nod of her own before seeking out Giles to inquire as to why the six of them were left quite alone on the road.

"We're not traveling to Edo with the rest of the delegation?" Willow could not quite decide whether she was disappointed at missing out on her opportunity to see the Shogun's capital.

"No Willow, the skull is not in Edo," Giles replied, already swinging his horse towards a much narrower, less traveled road that was little more than a walking track. Willow eyed its narrowness with distaste even as Giles continued talking over his shoulder. "Today we travel to _Aokigahara_. In English, the Sea of Trees."

"Sounds lovely," Willow commented absently, digging her heels in tentatively in order to follow Giles.

"You will not be calling it lovely after tomorrow, Willow-san," Ayako interrupted in a stern voice. "It is a thick forest of closely woven trees and dark caves, full of thieves, and the worst demons imaginable. Few venture there of their own choice and even fewer still return."

Willow's expression brightened as soon as Ayako mentioned 'dark place,' at the words 'thieves' and 'demons', a broad smile had spread across her face.

"Splendid!" she announced, her eyes shining with anticipation.

Willow then spurred her horse forwards with such gusto that she almost lost her balance. She did succeed in spooking Giles's horse and merely shrugged when her mentor gave her a stern glance over his shoulder.

* * *

The enthusiasm which had gripped Willow that morning as the small party set out west towards Aokigahara had only faded a little by the time the small party stopped to make camp for the evening. It had mostly been dampened by her exceedingly sore buttocks and Giles's admission that they would not reach their destination until the next morning. Eight months of not having killed anything except for a particularly vicious rat on the _Van Amstel_ was definitely beginning to get to her.

While she had camped many times throughout her Japanese journey, on this particular night, the reduced numbers in their group meant that Willow was forced to acknowledged Ayako's presence on a more intimate level than simply murmuring thanks as she served the evening meal or any number of other small tasks she happened to carry out especially for her.

While there was still enough grey light to see by, Willow watched as Ayako crouched over the swords she carried at her waist. Willow had often noticed them hanging in their scabbards at Ayako's side, but this afternoon was the first she had seen of their naked blades. Her curiosity eventually won out over her refusal to allow herself to get close to the Japanese woman and she found herself approaching, intoxicated by the sight of the beautiful shining steel laid out on Ayako's lap.

Ayako looked up as Willow approached, a small smile crossing her face as she paused her cleaning of the blade to invite Willow to sit.

Managing a quick smile of her own, Willow folded her limbs beneath her and sat on the ground opposite Ayako. She then found the steel blade being held out towards her. Trembling a little, she accepted it onto the palms of her hands.

"This is a katana," Ayako indicated the blade Willow held. "And this…" Ayako withdrew a second smaller, but no less beautiful blade from its scabbard across her lap. "This is a waikizashi, and together they make a daishō. This particular daishō were forged as a pair and mounted as a pair, making them extremely rare and valuable."

"They are both beautiful," Willow whispered, her eyes caressing the intoxicating patterns in the blade she held. "The most beautiful weapons I have ever seen."

Ayako reached out and ran her fingers along the flat of the blade Willow held while balancing the waikizashi on the palm of her other hand. Willow stared at both the blade and at Ayako's delicate fingers as they moved in front of her eyes.

"This pattern is called the jihada, created by folding the steel back upon itself many times. The characters here-" Ayako traced the kanji just above the sword guard, "-are my family crest, the sword was made for my great-grandfather many years ago and although I was not born a son…my father passed it down to me."

Willow finally allowed herself to wrap her fingers around the intricate lacings on the hilt of the weapon, guiltily remembering that she had yet to wash her hands after a long day of riding. As soon as her hand closed around the grip, she felt its strength and power radiate down her arm. It was like nothing she had ever held before. Extending her arm to one side, she studied the length and slight curvature of the blade.

"My father favours the nodachi," Ayako continued, referring to the much lengthier weapon that Kenji wore strapped to his back.

"Your swords only have one cutting edge…much like my brother's cavalry sabre," Willow mused, swivelling her hand so the cutting edge was pointing downwards. "I am used to weapons with two edges. It is difficult to use in combat?

Ayako laughed lightly at the eager expression on Willow's face. "Come Willow-san, I will begin to teach you kenjutsu."

Ayako slid both weapons, one at a time, back into their scabbards and left them resting atop her saddle bags. Instead of the steel weapons, she selected two wooden staves of comparable length to her katana which had also been included in their luggage. She tossed one to Willow, who caught it with a deft movement and immediately twirled it in her hands with a lazy grin. Without warning, Ayako darted forward and with a quick slicing motion, knocked the stave away from Willow before she could catch it.

Somewhat chastened, Willow retrieved her stave and kept it firmly within her grasp.

"Always keep a firm grip on your weapon, Willow-san." The tone of Ayako's voice was not condescending in the least. "And remember the katana is a weapon for slicing-"

The Japanese girl repeated her earlier movement in a more exaggerated form, bringing the stave down in a blurring movement with both hands on the hilt.

"-and thrusting," Ayako kept both hands on the weapon and lunged forward, the tip of the stave passing just to Willow's left, she straightened to see Willow already imitating her grip on her own stave.

In the dimming light of early evening, as the fire was light and the evening meal prepared by Kenji himself, Ayako and Willow continued their lesson. At first the clearing was relatively silent as Ayako demonstrated the forms with her undeniable grace and Willow repeated them, awkwardly at first and then with something resembling the correct posture as she began to grasp the concepts involved.

Impatient to move onto something with more contact, Willow challenged Ayako to a duel. A challenge the Japanese girl reluctantly accepted with a small shrug. Willow faced off confidently and started using the techniques Ayako had demonstrated; however, as their combat progressed she quickly resorted back to forms she was familiar with. The stave was wielded like it was her own sword with moves that came easily to her. Ayako adapted to the change in Willow's style but retained the forms she knew; gracefully meeting each of Willow's more brutal chops and slices, biding her time until she found an opening in Willow's guard. As Willow mis-timed a particularly flamboyant backhanded swing, Ayako seized her opening and lunched forward.

The stave caught Willow in the middle of her stomach and she immediately doubled over, clutching at her stomach with her left hand. She glanced up at Ayako, her expression one of pain mingled with admiration. Giles had been the last person to defeat her in a sword bout over two years earlier, since then, no one or nothing had managed to come close to touching her.

"I think…" Willow tried to gasp out the words as she struggled to regain her breath. "I think that I have much to learn."

Although Willow was both physically and mentally sore from her defeat, she was able to at least stand on her own two feet…if wobbling a little. Ayako merely showed concern, far from the triumphant grin Willow would have worn had she won.

"I would not be embarrassed, Willow Van Helsing." The two girls were joined by Ayako's father. "My daughter has practised kenjutsu eagerly since she was barely four years old."

Willow tried to keep her face impassive despite her exhaustion; she hated being viewed as a poor loser. Though she did secretly have to admit that she did not like to lose to anyone, even to a beautiful woman.

"If you would permit me?" Kenji held out his hand and Willow passed him the staves she held with some degree of relief.

With a thin sheen of sweat covering her face, Willow retreated from the clearing and found a soft patch of mossy earth beneath a tree. She sat with her aching legs sticking out in front of her as though they would not move again. She had been of a mind to plunge them into the river until one of their guides mentioned that it was full of water nymphs that would pull you under and hold you down just for amusement. So she sat, watching Ayako and her father dance across the clearing, the staves were mere blurs in their expert hands. The crack-crack of bamboo on bamboo rang out around them and reminded Willow of her intensely physical sparring sessions with Abraham. She tried to imagine what her brother was doing at home and wondered whether he would venture to the theatre without her by his side. For some reason she did not think that he would be able to suffer Christopher Cain's presence for long given that he was an entirely modest, practical young man and Cain was a posturing braggart. With a pang Willow decided that her brother was probably lonely.

"I noticed you picked up the forms easily."

Although startled by Giles's sudden appearance just behind her, Willow did not jump even slightly. A demon hunter learned to control such movements as they would betray fear or lessen your reaction time. Instead she glanced over her should at her mentor to see his gaze was directed out into the clearing as he watched Kenji and Ayako.

"It may be different from what I am used to, but the katana is still a weapon," Willow commented with a nonchalant shrug.

Giles nodded. He knew Willow was not boasting but merely stating the truth.

"She is a beautiful woman," he commented suddenly.

"Who?" Willow had to ask, even though she already knew exactly whom he was referring to, the question sounded even stupider in light of the fact that there were only two women in their party and Willow was one of them.

Giles also knew this, and as such he did not answer her question. Instead he asked an abrupt one of his own. "What are your intentions towards her?"

"What?" Willow sat up a little straighter, the beginnings of an indignant expression on her face.

"It was a simple enough question," Giles replied with a shrug, shifting his stance into something a little more casual. "I may be a very, very old man but even I can see that there is an awkward undercurrent between the two of you. Are you in love with her?"

"No, I'm not in love with her," Willow's answer was firm without being vehement.

"Well, she is in love with you," Thorne stated simply.

Willow could not keep the surprise from showing on her face. She was not surprised at the fact that it was Giles who had uttered the statement, as he was a man who observed and knew many things, but rather she was surprised at the fact that she herself had not picked up on Ayako's feelings. She had definitely known that there was something between them…but love, love was a different matter entirely. Willow ducked her head, staring intently at a twig she twirled between her fingers as she tried to deny to herself that she had ever done anything that would cause Ayako to fall in love with her.

_You're a silly fool Willow Van Helsing. People don't make you fall in love with them - you either are or you aren't. _Willow dimly remembered catching sight of a shy blonde across a crowded picnic field._ I loved Tara from the moment I laid eyes on her…before she even opened her mouth or did much more than sit and take a bite of a cucumber sandwich._

"I would be careful if I were you Willow," Giles continued in a cautionary tone. "Kenji Nakamura is a very old and very dear friend and if you have relations with his daughter-"

"I do not want to have relations with his daughter!" Willow shivered, as though it was ill-mannered of Giles to even think about such things let alone actually give voice to them. "Please desist with this line of questioning!"

"I did not say you could not have relations with her…just don't break her heart," Giles continued, not noticing the rising colour in Willow's cheeks.

"Goddammit, Giles, I thought I was supposed to be the pigheaded one that doesn't listen," Willow growled, snapping the twig viciously between her fingers. "And now you're not listening to a word I say. I do not want to have relations with her!"

Giles paused in his commentary for a moment and Willow glanced up, thinking that perhaps he had said his piece. However, she could see the set of his jaw in the fast fading light and knew that he was not quite done. She groaned and slammed the back of her head against the tree trunk behind her.

"But you do want to sleep with her," Giles commented quietly.

"Yes damn you, Giles! I still have needs…of course I bloody well want to sleep with her!" Willow snapped, rising to her feet in one explosive movement, her fists clenched at her side. "But my heart will not allow me to love again…not yet…and maybe not ever."

Giles sighed, he could feel the raw pain in Willow's voice, the wounds still unhealed even after all the time that had passed. "It's time Willow, it's time to move on for the sake of the people who are around you now and care about you. Eventually you'll come to see that you can move on from your loss and be happy once more."

"You and my brother are as bad as each other," Willow growled in exasperation. "I wish you would both bloody shut up!"

"Well…we are both quite a bit more intelligent than you, Willow," Giles replied all too calmly.

The wizard appeared even calmer in the face of Willow's state of agitation, while he merely stood with his arms folded; Willow paced a short track in front of him with firm steps. Eventually she realised that remaining in Giles's presence would merely lead to her saying something she would regret. Without giving him a last parting glance, she walked away from the clearing, away from Giles, and away from the cause of her current predicament - Ayako. As she walked she cursed the rotten fates, everything would have been a whole lot simpler had Kenji Nakamura had a son.

In her desire to get away from prying eyes or the opinion of others, Willow had practically broken into a run by the time she had gone more than a few metres from their camp. She did not stop until the glow of their fire was dim in the distance and she felt truly alone. In the darkness she stumbled and went crashing to her knees, dirt digging into the palms of her hands. Willow did not rise from her hands and knees; instead she curled up into a small ball, her face pressed against the cold earth. Unbidden tears came freely, flowing down her cheeks and into the dirt. Moments later great sobs emerged from her throat until they racked her small frame.

Willow's sobs did not cease until she realised she was lying on the earth with her entire body chilled to the bone. She tucked her knees up to her chest and hugged them tightly against her, seeing nothing in front of her but the darkness that surrounded her.

"Why did you ever leave me?" she whispered fiercely, her voice forced between gritted teeth. "Why goddammit, Tara?"

She could not be sure of how much time passed, only that she was chilled to the bone by the time thoughts of returning to the camp entered her mind. However when she rose onto shaky legs and turned to leave, she found Ayako standing several metres away. The Japanese woman was watching her with a profound look of sadness on her face. She seemed to be reluctant to approach, however when she saw Willow trying to stand, she crossed the short distance between them quickly.

Ayako held out her hand, Willow extended her own and she was drawn upwards in a firm grip. The grip was so firm that Willow found herself pressed against the other woman. She could feel the firm contours of her body beneath her clothes. Willow sighed, the small sound full of not only of longing but of promise. It was a tiny sliver of hope that she may be able to once again experience the woman's touch she craved. If only she could bring herself to make those first few steps.

She opened her mouth to speak but found the words came awkwardly. "Ayako, now is perhaps not a good time…but the thing…"

"What thing, Willow-san?" Ayako cocked her head to one side, a small puzzled frown on her face.

"The thing…the n-nothing that happened…between us," Willow stammered, wondering why someone as fearless as she could not manage a few stupid words.

"Ah," Ayako's frown disappeared and was replaced by a small smile. "That thing."

"I should like there to be something…b-between us," Willow whispered. Ayako's face was now so close that she could feel hot breath falling on her face. It made her shiver with delight.

The small smile on Ayako's face broadened until her whole face was shining. "I should like that too, Willow-san…very much."

The pauses and nervousness disappeared after that moment. Their mouths met with a fierce determination, a result of the tension that had been building between the two of them from the moment they met. Ayako's lips parted, accompanied by a soft sigh. As their mouths worked, tasting each other hungrily, Willow found her hands wandering over Ayako's clothes. She desperately sought out the soft skin she knew lay beneath. Gently she pressed the Japanese woman back against the tree behind her, using one hand to undo the ties of her kimono. A part of her tried to slow their pace and her movements to something approaching the tenderness she thought was needed, but she was met only with an irritated growl from the other woman.

Ayako crushed her lips against Willow's ear as she spoke, "We do not have time for softness, Willow. I need you to be with me...like I know you can."

Willow knew what it was Ayako was asking of her. The restraints that had held her in check for the past four years were stripped away from the moment her fingers brushed against the taut skin of Ayako's stomach. In the midst of the act of sliding her trousers downwards, she gently pressed her backwards against a nearby tree. Her sole focus was on the woman in her arms. While one hand worked its way over the planes of her stomach, the other further tugged aside the fabric covering her breasts. Methodically she worked her way downwards until the garment was hanging off Ayako's shoulders and she could drag aside the thin fabric of her undershirt. As the fingers of one hand closed firmly over one of her tits, the others raked brashly against the soft mound between her legs.

"Please," Ayako whispered desperately. "Please."

Willow slid one finger between the already moist lips of her new lover's sex, seeking out the heat at her core. Wrapping one leg around Willow's back, Ayako bucked her hips insistently, desperate to feel Willow inside her. When the Englishwoman obliged a moment later, two fingers thrusting upwards firmly, a strangled whimper was all the emerged from her mouth. With the second, third and fourth thrusts, the whimpers gradually intensified into cries. Willow's mouth was pressed against her neck. Each breath fell rapidly, heating the skin there.

Willow pressed her body weight against the Japanese woman, pinning her firmly to the tree. Her hand left Ayako's breast to grab the leg that wasn't already wrapped around her body, hauling it upwards as well. The hand remained beneath Ayako's arse, offering firm leverage as she continued to pump her hips forward with each thrust of her fingers. She savoured the feel the palm of her hand grinding hard against Ayako's engorged clit. Their lips met in another fierce kiss – it was cloying, almost suffocating, and yet they both hungrily sought out more. With her entire body protesting at the effort she was expending, Willow had to tear her lips away from Ayako's in order to draw in more air. She settled for pressing her cheek to Ayako's so that each rapid, loud breath fell over her ear. The intense physicality caused Willow pain as her muscles started to cramp, but she pushed past any barriers she felt and concentrated on bringing Ayako to orgasm.

"I am...yours...Willow-san," Ayako replied between cries. She tried to muffle her desperate sounds in Willow's hair but they grew too loud to disguise and she gave up altogether.

Willow felt the responses within Ayako's body and the moisture pooling in the palm of her hand and knew that she was hovering on the brink.

"Please!" A second or two after her last desperate cry, Ayako's orgasm rippled throughout her body – originating in her flushed, raw centre and spreading outwards through her body. She trembled fiercely against Willow, her legs squeezing the redhead's body without a thought for just how vice-like the grip actually was. Her limbs slackened eventually, legs feeling like jelly as they began to slip downwards. She tried to set them down herself but found them uncooperative.

"I will not let you go," Willow whispered. One at a time, she took Ayako's legs and unhooked each from her waist, lowering them down. Even when both feet were on the ground, she remained pressed hard against her. "And I'm not going anywhere."

It was all that held Ayako upright in those moments, she sagged against Willow. When she eventually lifted her head she saw a dark patch on the shoulder of Willow's robe and realised that her face was damp with tears.

Willow's eyes widened when she noticed. Disgusted at herself for her complete lack of restraint, she caressed Ayako's face. "I-I'm so sorry," Willow whispered. "I've hurt you."

"No," Ayako whispered. She shook her head and smiled to reassure her that she was fine. "You could never hurt me, Willow-san."

A grin crossed Willow's face as she nuzzled gently against Ayako's neck. "Good...because I think your father would find a way for me to end up in a ditch somewhere if I did hurt you."

* * *

As befitting the resting place of a particularly evil object, the cave at the heart of the Aokigahara Forest was a truly foreboding place. Even Willow, who honestly feared very few things due to a unique combination of recklessness, stupidity and bravery, felt a chill run down her spine at the sight of the gaping black maw. She was fervently glad that Giles had somehow retrieved her own weapons from the official on Dejima and had returned them to her. The familiar weight of her sword at her side did much to dispel the fear she felt at the sight of the cave.

It was situated at the base of a small cliff with a slight, mossy rise leading up to it. With the jagged rocks around its mouth, it looked like a creature rising to swallow whatever unfortunate creature happened to approach. Kyuzo and Gorobei stayed well back from the entrance, Ayako ventured little closer either. It was Willow who followed closely behind Giles and Kenji, almost tripping over their heels in her eagerness to see what lay inside.

Giles turned and held up his hand in a motion for Willow to stop.

"Willow, Kenji and I will enter alone; the four of you will stand guard," As soon as Willow opened her mouth to protest the decision. Giles silenced her with a quick grunt. "No…there are protections placed on this chamber which require great care, even by the one who set them in place…you will remain here."

Willow huffed in a disgruntled manner as she watched the backs of the two men disappear into the darkness, while she did not doubt Kenji Nakamura's skill with the nodachi he wore strapped to his back, she could not see how he expected to wield it in the close confines of the cave. She turned her back on the cave's entrance and sat on the mossy earth beneath her, gazing out into the forest. Ayako stood close enough that she could reach out and touch her. Willow turned her head slightly and watched the young woman from the corner of her eye. Ayako's dark eyes were scanning the forest, her lips parted slightly in anticipation of something. After less than a minute, Willow had to turn her gaze away as she felt her desire flush throughout her body. She knew that when they finished their business in the Sea of Trees, she would be able to sate that desire. Unfortunately now she had to sit and suffer in silence.

To take her mind off such matters, Willow stood once more and advanced further away from the cave mouth. She did not like having the black hole at her back any less than not accompanying Giles inside.

"This place sends terror straight to my heart," Ayako whispered, her white knuckled fist gripping the tsuka of her katana as though she were poised to draw it.

"I heartily concur," Willow nodded, her eyes darting into the trees as she scanned their surrounding with intense concentration.

Willow could feel that something was not quite right; she sensed the presence of others besides those in their small party even though there was nothing she could see or hear to confirm her instincts. She followed Ayako's lead and wrapped her fingers around the hilt of her own sword before moving a few paces closer to the forest. She kept her gaze not only on the forest floor, but above in the trees as well.

"You are right to watch the trees," Ayako commented as she saw the direction of Willow's gaze. "We learn to use every surface from which to mount an attack."

Willow nodded. "You would think it strange then to see English battle lines drawn up in a field of war. The soldiers fight in lines, shoulder to shoulder, directly facing the enemy without any attempt at concealment or surprise."

"That is indeed strange," Ayako agreed, moving a little closer to Willow so they were standing shoulder to shoulder as the soldiers in a battle line. "I would think that many men would die that way."

Her close proximity served to arouse Willow's desire once again, but she had to resist the urge to touch her. "Many men do, my brother Abraham was in the cavalry and for so many years I was truly fearful that another war in Europe would break out, or that he would be sent to the Americas to fight against the colonists. Thankfully neither came to pass before he resigned his commission."

Ayako turned to look at Willow's profile, an interested expression on her face. "You have not spoken of your brother."

"No," Willow smiled sadly. "I did not want to dwell on him for fear of missing him terribly…but I miss him no matter what I do…and I do wish he was here with me."

"I should like to meet your brother," Ayako announced warmly.

The sadness in Willow's smile ebbed away and she turned to meet Ayako's direct gaze. "I think you shall…he would like you very much." _And how happy he would be for me if I were able to introduce her as my lover? Would he see only my happiness, or would he see straight through me and know that I could not love her the way I love Tara?_

Willow did not get the chance to continue the conversation as she was interrupted by the sound of footsteps in the cave behind her. Both she and Ayako turned and a few moments later, as though the darkness of the case was spitting them back out, Giles and Kenji came into view. The faces of both men immediately told Willow all she needed to know. Giles's words were hardly necessary.

"Our protections were still in place…but the skull is indeed gone," he announced in a defeated voice.

While Willow stared at Giles as he spoke, several tiny sounds made her spin to face the forest once more…at first it was just the snapping of twigs and brushing of leaves, and then Ayako's curt cry of warning. Willow was already facing the forest with her sword drawn when at least a dark dozen shapes sprang from the forest to encircle the group. They were all identical, men clad from head to toe in black with only narrow slits for their eyes. Each carried a drawn katana, all levelled in the direction of their intended prey.

Behind her, Willow heard Kenji and Giles draw their own weapons and a bare moment later, Kyuzo's and Gorobei's weapons were also drawn with steely hisses. Without waiting for any sort of single or attack from the warriors surrounding them, Willow strode casually forward, a lazy smile on her face.

"Willow-san!"

Willow ignored Ayako's fierce shout and continued walking towards the men, while their body posture did not change in response to her unexpected movement, she could sense their confusion. With a deft flick of her wrist and fingers, Willow twirled her sword once and brought it to a stop directly in front of her, her stance set.

"Which of you would like to die first?" Willow announced confidently as her smile broadened.


	19. The Broken Daisho

**Chapter Nineteen  
The Broken Daisho**

"Have you warned your student about the folly of reckless behaviour?" Kenji Nakamura asked Giles in a disapproving tone as he watched Willow march towards the circle of black figures.

"Constantly," Giles muttered through gritted teeth as he moved forward to follow Willow before she could be surrounded completely by the hostile force.

Ahead of them both, Willow heard nothing of their disapproving words as she continued towards the men. Their violent intentions were confirmed a split second later when, with a blood-thirsty cry, the one directly opposite her launched himself forward. Willow reacted swiftly to his sudden attack so his blade passed above her head as she dived beneath him. She threw herself forward, passing by his body in a diving roll. She hit the ground somewhere just behind him, rolled and stood in one swift movement. If Willow had remained in that same spot for a split second, she would have received a blade straight through her chest but she sensed the warrior behind her recover quickly from his first miss. He had reached the end of his swing and was already spinning, bringing his katana around to thrust it forward. Willow leapt into the air and thrust her feet forwards; the soles of her boots hit the trunk just in front of her at precisely the same moment as the thrusting blade. The point dug into the bark and before its owner could wrench it out, Willow's sword came slashing downwards as her feet returned to the ground. He collapsed with a spray of blood from where his skull had been split open.

Although the duel had been brief, in that short time the rest of Willow's companions had moved to engage their attackers and the small clearing rang out with the sounds of steel upon steel and all the associated cries of combat. Willow had no time to rest on her small victory as already another opponent was moving to take the first man's place. She had expected nothing less and already her body and blade were moving in response to his swings and thrusts.

Willow's grief of the previous day was forgotten as she lost herself to something she could actually understand - violence. A few times during the ensuing melee she lost her concentration, all were moments when she turned to seek out Ayako, needing to confirm that the other woman could hold her own in the fight. Each time Willow found her she was magnificent, matching a black clad warrior's blade perfectly, her strokes even more graceful and deadly than they had been in their practice bout the previous evening.

When one loss of concentration almost resulted in her being gutted by a waikizashi, Willow realised that she could not afford such lapses in the face of the dark-clad warriors. She knew that they possessed skill comparable to that which Kenji and Ayako had displayed the previous evening and it would therefore take every ounce of her own skill and cunning to stay clear of their blades.

Willow faced off against her opponent, giving the black clad warrior nothing short of her full attention. It unnerved her that she could see nothing of his face besides his eyes and they were dark and unflinching. She was momentarily thrown off balance as Kyuzo came crashing between them, grappling with his own opponent. The man opposite her used the opportunity to strike, and Willow was forced to defend herself hastily.

As she moved backwards she caught sight of Kenji from the corner of her eye. Ayako's father was felled by a vicious blow to his head. She gritted her teeth and knew that it was impossible to go to his aid given that the whirling, slashing figure in front of her was intent on plunging his blade into her stomach or dying in the process. However, he did not reckon on Willow's determination, as difficult as the past years of her life had been, the memory of Ayako's beaming smile in response to her awkward proposal filled her with hope...the sort of hope she had not felt for some time.

"_I should like that too, Willow-san…very much."_ The memory of Ayako's quiet words filled Willow's mind and she recovered swiftly, no longer content with defensively blocking her opponent's swipes and thrusts.

She pressed forward, her own blade spinning in front of her, her rate of strokes far faster than those of her opponent. Her speed left him dazed and desperate, badly mis-timing his own sword work until he slipped past her following one particularly poor swing. Willow lashed out with her boot and delivered a kick to the small of his back which sent him stumbling forward and further off balance. With a guttural cry, Willow brought the sword downwards in a fierce slashing motion across the man's back. He cried out in pain and sank straight to his knees in front of her. Willow strode past the kneeling man, leaving her own back exposed in front of him even as he struggled to retain his grip on his sword and haul himself to his feet. Before he could do so, Willow spun her sword into a reverse grip and rammed it backwards, past her own body and straight into the chest of her opponent. She released her grip on the hilt and turned, drawing no satisfaction from the sight of her sword protruding from the dark warrior's chest. Reclaiming her grip, she withdrew the blade in one quick movement.

As he crumpled to his knees, eyes already glazing over in death, Willow finally turned to survey the clearing. The earth was littered with black clad bodies, their limbs splayed at awkward angles in death or moving feebly as their lifeblood poured onto the soil beneath them. She watched as Gorobei plunged his katana downwards to end the suffering of one. His brother Kyuzo sat crumpled on the ground, clutching at a wound to his thigh. Giles was still standing, albeit barely. Her mentor was slumped against a tree, his face pale and his chest heaving with exertion. Although Willow had seen no evidence of it herself, she suspected that he had woven some sort of magic to bring an end to some of their foes. She could indeed see two men tangled unnaturally high in the branches of a tree. Upon closer inspection she saw that the branches were thrust through the flesh of their limbs and torsos. Kenji Nakamura was struggling to pull himself to his feet using his nodachi as a prop, blood coating the side of his face from a head wound.

However, nowhere could Willow see Ayako, she scoured the clearing with her eyes for the raven-haired woman but she was not there. Still holding her sword in one bloody hand, Willow started moving in a wide circle, searching the surrounding forest. She grew increasingly anxious by the second, especially as Ayako did not return her urgent shouts.

"Ayako!" Willow could hear the fear in her own voice, she spun and surveyed her companions, all were now looking towards her, "Has anyone seen her?"

Now Kenji realised his daughter was missing and he too wore a look of concern much the same as Willow. Although all five of them searched for her, it was Willow who found her first. The Japanese girl lay on her back a short way into the forest, propped up slightly by a tree root at her back. Even as Willow scrambled to her side, she could see the dampness covering the front of Ayako's blue kimono. Lying less than a metre from her was the limp form of one of their attackers, the point of Ayako's waikizashi protruding from the middle of his back.

As Willow drew closer a small cry escaped her throat at the sight of the wound. Ayako's torso had been sliced open diagonally, from shoulder to stomach; it was nothing short of a miracle that the girl still breathed.

She breathed, and her eyes were open and focused on Willow.

Willow finally let her bloody sword fall to the earth as she collapsed to the ground at Ayako's side, already struggling to tear strips from the clothing she wore in order to create makeshift bandages to staunch the flow of blood from Ayako's terrible wound. Even as she was struggling to tear the fabric, the Japanese girl laid a bloody hand atop her own.

"Please, Willow…stop."

Following those short words, Ayako closed her eyes, as though it had taxed her greatly to say them. Willow panicked, thinking she was dead, until the hand holding the hilt of her katana moved towards her with small, jerky movements.

"Ayako…" Willow whispered.

"Take it," she whispered.

Willow gently received the bloody katana from Ayako's limp hand, feeling as though she should be doing something to help her instead of mutely kneeling by her side.

Ayako's eyes opened once more and she was able to lift her hand to Willow's cheek. Her fingers were already cold but there was a small smile on her face.

"I should have protected you," Willow had to admit brokenly.

"Do not think that!" Ayako whispered fiercely. "I know I fought well…it is a good death,"

Willow struggled to maintain her emotions and hold back the words she truly wished to say, _No death is a good death_. "I have never known anyone braver."

"I love you," Ayako's words were even less than a whisper, spoken as her hand fell from Willow's cheek limply to her side and her eyes slid closed.

"Ayako…I…"

Hot tears burned Willow's eyes and a sob lay trapped in her throat as she watched Ayako's chest rise and fall. She did not repeat the motion again, having breathed her last. Willow bowed her head; it was too late for her to say those simple words for Ayako to hear even though she knew in her heart that she had loved her as much as her heart would allow her to.

No longer able to stand the sight of the Japanese woman's ruined body, Willow awkwardly scrambled backwards just as she heard Kenji's anguished cries somewhere just behind her. She sat at a distance and watched through her tears as he collapsed beside the body of his daughter. Willow felt strong arms lifting her, dragging her to her feet and gently turning her around. She was facing Giles and he was speaking but she could not make out his words. Without replying she pressed the bloody katana she held into one of his hands and wrenched away from him. She stumbled into the forest, desperately needing to put all the blood and death behind her, if only for a short time.

* * *

As physically and mentally exhausted as they were, Giles and Willow could allow no time to rest upon their return from Aokigahara. The _Van Amstel's_ captain had already delayed his departure by several days in order to wait for them and he could wait no longer. Willow barely had a moment to say goodbye to the woman who had brought her so much confusion and yet so much hope in just a short space of time.

Kenji had carried his daughter's body back to Nagasaki, carefully wrapped and laid across his lap as he rode. Willow was now standing by the body, removed from the horse's back and laid out gently on a small cart. As she stood, her hands limply at her sides, she lamented the pointlessness of the young woman's death. Willow now knew that the men who attacked them in the clearing were of a profession known as ninja, warriors who took contracts for payment. It had wrenched Willow's heart all the more to know that the man who killed Ayako did so for nothing more than money. Although there was no trace of exactly who had hired them, Willow was willing to bet her fortune on it being the same person or persons who had taken the skull from its resting place.

As hot tears slid down her face, Willow found she had absolutely nothing to say in farewell. For someone who was used to speaking her mind, and often, it made the situation all the more unbearable. Small sobs were shaking her shoulders by the time she sensed another presence at her side, moments later a firm hand went to her shoulder. Thinking it was Giles; she reached up and touched it briefly with her own hand. It was not until some minutes later, when there were no more tears to fall that she finally turned away from the body and faced the man who comforted her.

"Nakamura-san," Willow whispered, surprised to find it was not Giles after all, but Ayako's father.

The man had not spoken to her throughout the arduous journey back to Nagasaki. Willow had tried to catch his eye several times but always he had turned away. Now he stood face to face with her, unshed tears shining in his dark eyes. In his hands he held Ayako's daishö, both the katana and waikizashi scoured clean of blood save for the dark red stain on the once white lacings at the top of the katana's scabbard. With trembling hands, Kenji held the katana out towards Willow and motioned for her to take it.

Willow's own hands shook as she reached for the weapon, only realising Kenji's intentions when it was lying in the palm of her hands. He meant her to have it.

"It was what she would have wanted," Kenji murmured awkwardly. "The katana will return to England with you, and the waikizashi will remain here in Japan with her family."

"But the pair are a daishö," Willow protested weakly, trying to offer the sword back to Ayako's father.

He would have none of it, his own hands folded atop hers, forcing her to grip the katana's scabbard firmly. Then he pushed gently until she was holding the weapon against her chest. When he dropped his hands, Willow continued to cradle it against her chest as though she never intended to let it go.

"I do not know you well, Willow Van Helsing," Kenji continued quietly. "To me you seem a reckless and arrogant warrior…but you possess true skill, and my daughter loved you…and that is more than enough for me to entrust you with this katana."

Willow ducked her head awkwardly, biting her lip as she replied. "And I loved your daughter."

When she lifted her head once more, she felt as though she had been given a second chance to say the words Ayako did not have time to hear before she died and a great weight lifted from her heart. There was a further moment of silence between them, no longer awkward but companionable in their shared grief. It was not until several minutes later that Kenji uttered a small grunt, as though he thought perhaps he had shown enough emotion in the presence of a foreigner…even one who loved his daughter.

"I wish you well in your travels and your quest…and if ever you shall need it, the Nakamura family will come to your aid."

Following his words, Kenji bowed low and Willow followed suit. When she straightened once more, he had already turned on his heels and was walking away, motioning the cart driver to move forward as well. Willow watched as the shrouded form of Ayako's body drew further and further away from her. She wanted to run after the cart as though the whole tragedy had just been a mistake and the young Japanese woman was still alive. Willow would find her just as vibrant as she had been the day they met only a few short weeks ago. It had all been so abrupt and unfair Willow felt it had to be unreal. Surely the fates could not be so cruel as to strip Ayako from her as well as Tara. She bowed her head, eyes closed, it was all very real. In her sadness, Willow thought that perhaps she was not meant to have the love she craved and her life was destined to be brutal and lonely.

If that was truly the way of things, Willow hoped her life would be short.

It was only the ringing of the ship's bell that brought her out of her thoughts and back to reality. She turned to see Giles motioning her aboard the _Van Amstel_ even as the sailors waited to draw back the gangplank. Willow quickly broke into a run, as though suddenly eager to leave Japan behind. However, as soon as her boots were resting on the wood of the deck, she felt a sudden urge to return. The urge was still there a moment later when Giles crossed to stand beside her; he put his hand on her shoulder as though he knew what she was thinking.

"We will return one day Willow, we will visit her tomb and pay her the respect she deserves," Giles said quietly.

"She deserves more than respect," Willow replied sadly.

The two stood in silence as the ropes were cast off from the dock and the anchor wound up. All too soon, Dejima was only a cluster of buildings on the horizon with the city of Nagasaki lying behind it. The _Van Amstel's_ sails quickly picked up in the wind and she was headed back to sea and towards home.

Even though Giles could see that Willow was exhausted and needed nothing more than the bunk in her cabin, he knew that they could afford very little time for rest over the coming months if they were to avoid the resurrection of Dracula's army at Covasna…although for all he knew, they would be weeks too late. He very much doubted that himself, Christopher, Abraham and Willow would be enough to stop even a fraction of the thousands of foe that would be up against them.

"Willow, there are discussions that need to be had," Giles saw her look up to meet his gaze, her expression already defeated. "We must have our plans in place…and more training, yes, definitely more training."

"I just want to go home, Giles," Willow managed to whisper. "I miss my brother."

* * *

Abraham Van Helsing stretched wearily and glanced to see that a small stack of books still remained on the trolley beside him. When he had told his army friends that he was resigning to become a librarian, he did not think that there would be any truth to his statement. However, after agreeing with Giles to take over his duties at Montagu house, he had discovered that the library did have other patrons besides their small group and there was work to be done clearing up after them. With over a year now spent reshelving books and learning more about classification systems than he ever cared to know, Abraham had well and truly decided that he did not want to be a librarian.

Much of the remainder of his time had been completely occupied with his actual occupation and to say that he and Christopher Croft had been busy was an understatement. Over the past few months they had noticed a dramatic increase in the number of demons, both vampires and a myriad of other kinds, stalking the streets of London. That in itself was bad enough, but it was made worse by the fact that they were venturing into the well-populated areas, close to the homes of decent, working Londoners with children instead of their usual isolated haunts.

As their numbers and boldness increased, so too did the danger he and Christopher faced. Just two months ago Christopher had been pounced upon by no less than five vampires and wounded severely. He had remained in London hospital for several weeks before being discharged a great deal surlier than he had been before he went in. He remained unable to participate in patrols fully, leaving Abraham to stalk the streets alone most nights.

Even when he ventured out alone, it was not himself Abraham feared for, it was Willow. He had received no word since a brief note Willow had scribbled and sent back to him from the Caribbean many months earlier. When he resumed shelving the books from his small trolley, it was with a worried countenance. As much as he trusted Giles and his skills, nothing would satisfy his worries until she was safely back in England.

He heard the main library door swing open, the slightly screeching hinges reminding him that they needed oiling. With the last book stowed safely in its place, he was of a mind to tell whomever it was the library was closing early today. He would therefore be able to go home to Gordon Square and spend a pleasant afternoon embedding his axe in a practice target. However, as he made to move his trolley, he was engulfed by a miniature hurricane, the force of which knocked him backwards into the shelves behind him. A pair of arms wrapped themselves very firmly around his chest and a small head nestled beneath his chin in a familiar manner.

"Abraham." The person breathed the word, as though she could not quite believe that she was saying it to his face at long last.

Abraham immediately realised it had been much too long since he had heard his name said in that particular voice…his sister was home.

"I take it you missed me," was all he could say for fear of tears choking his voice; he stroked her hair gently with a shaking hand.

It was only when Abraham glanced down that he realised something had changed. While the roots of Willow's unbound hair were a familiar red, the strands that tumbled over her shoulders were a dirty black. He gently prised her out of his grip and held her at arm's length; he noticed she was crying, tracks of salty tears staining her grimy cheeks. She had obviously not bothered to wash or change her attire before coming to find him and still wore a loose white shirt and stained breeches. He also noticed the strange sword hanging from her belt.

"My dear sister…what happened to you in Japan?" he said as he reached up to run a lock of her hair through his fingers.

Willow dashed away her latest tears and threw herself back into her brother's arms. "Many things, Abraham…many things."

Indeed, much had happened to her and more than anything she wanted to tell Abraham about the sights she had seen during her travels and most of all, she wanted to tell him about Ayako. However she knew she could wait just a little longer until they were both back at Gordon Square and she could truly feel that she was home.

"Who on earth did that to your hair?" Abraham said in an effort to lighten the mood.

He felt and heard Willow chuckle slightly. "That comes courtesy of Giles. There are no redheads in Japan."

The dark strands stood out starkly against Abraham's pale skin. "Fascinating."

Willow finally drew herself from her brother's arms and studied him at length, checking him for wounds or signs of improper eating while she had been absent. She frowned at a recently healed gash on his jaw line and pinched his cheeks to confirm what her eyes told her.

"You haven't been eating properly!" she scolded with a slight sigh.

He reached out and cupped her hollow cheek in return. "Neither have you."

"Well, I've been living on salt pork and hardtack for months. What is your excuse?" Willow snapped back, knowing that their household cook made excellent meals.

"I've been…busy," Abraham admitted reluctantly, hardly wanting to laden Willow with his worries at the very moment of her return. "Demon and vampire activity has increased probably four-fold in just the past few months."

"That's understandable," another voice joined them.

Abraham looked up to see Giles striding into his library, he was no less presentable than Willow in his travel stained garments…although his hair was still the same steely grey. Before he spoke further, his gaze immediately swept his library from floor to ceiling as though to confirm that Abraham had been performing his task adequately in his absence. Seemingly satisfied, Giles crossed the floor to take Abraham's hand in a firm grasp, the two men stood awkward as though they might embrace before stepping back from one another.

"Welcome home, Giles," Abraham said as he placed his arm protectively around Willow's shoulders, drawing her small body close to him as though he feared Giles might take her away from him once more. "Why is it understandable?"

"Dracula has the skull," Giles replied succinctly, "Our demon friends have no doubt learnt of this great victory and are stepping up their activities as they anticipate his return to power."

Abraham drew in a deep breath and hugged Willow a little tighter. "What does that mean for us?"

Before Giles could reply, Willow interrupted in a resigned voice. "It means, big brother, that we are going to Covasna. Where we will stop Dracula or die horribly violent deaths."


	20. The Regret of Abraham Van Helsing

**Chapter Twenty  
The Regret of Abraham Van Helsing**

As much as Willow wished she could sink into the feathers of her four-posted bed, draw her blankets up over her head and remain there for several days, she knew she had very little time for such indulgences. She and Abraham had parted ways with Giles at Montangu house but not before their mentor informed them that they would be leaving at first light the next morning, headed towards the darkest heart of Europe in a race against Dracula's forces. In all likelihood they would arrive too late but it was a chance all of them had to take. Willow had seen the deep creases in Giles's forehead as they left him to his preparations, she knew as well as he that the spell to destroy the skull would not be completed in time…if even such a spell could be written. They would be going to Covasna with absolutely no cards to play save the skills they already possessed.

Following a brief and silent meal, Willow had retired upstairs to pull together the things she would need for the journey. She quickly noticed that the only items she was selecting were weapons and armour, somehow everything else seemed trivial. Ayako's katana was one of the first items she set aside for it was never far from her side to begin with.

At odd moments she would wrap her fingers around the hilt and lift it from wherever it happened to be resting, caressing its length with trembling fingers. It was a constant reminder of the Japanese girl and the potential life that had been stripped from her. Willow could only speculate as to what would have happened had Ayako lived and her father allowed her to travel to England. However she knew in her heart that she would have stayed at her side no matter what that choice would have brought her…most likely death at Covasna. It was this realisation that scared Willow almost as deeply as Ayako's death…the people who loved her were all doomed to die…

As though it were suddenly hot to touch, Willow set the katana down on her window seat with the rest of her equipment and took several awkward steps backwards until she felt her bed hit the backs of her legs. She sat heavily, feeling the weight of fate settle about her shoulders, pressing her down.

Willow was startled by a firm rap on her bedroom door but before she could calm herself enough to give permission to enter, the door swung inwards to reveal her brother. She sighed, pleased as always to see him, but even more fearful for what the future held for him. As she studied his dashing features, she knew without a doubt that she could not live without him. If Abraham was to be taken from her, as with Tara and Ayako, she would never be able to carry on with her life; indeed…it would be no life worth living.

Even as she felt herself sink so low as to render it impossible for her to stand once more, Abraham effortlessly managed to bring her out of it, simply by the fact that he was standing in her doorway puffing on a rather smelly, rather large cigar.

"Abraham Theodore Van Helsing, don't you dare smoke that foul smelling thing in my bedroom!" Willow leapt to her feet with the intention of shooing her cigar-smoking brother back out the way he had entered.

Willow crossed the floor to grapple with his arm, receiving an eyeful of cigar smoke when she tried to prise the offending object from his fingers. As strong as she was, Abraham easily held her at bay and she growled angrily.

"I'll hang my head out the window?" he offered hopefully, eyes pleading with her like those of a hungry puppy.

Willow eyed the cigar in his hand, already sending up puffs of foul smoke towards her ceiling, and eventually gave in with a grumpy shrug.

"Keep your head out the window!" She pointed in the direction of her window seat.

Abraham had to make a small spot for himself to sit amongst Willow's clothing and equipment which she had neatly laid out for their journey to Covasna. He tossed her black breastplate to the floor where it fell with a crash and shuffled aside a stack of silver crossbow bolts. The one thing that did catch his eye as he prised open the window was the strange sword Willow had brought back with her from Japan.

He sought permission from Willow who had returned to her perch on the edge of her bed; she nodded with a tight-lipped smile. He closed his fingers around the hilt and lifted it onto his lap. Blowing a mouthful of smoke outside, he gently prised the blade from its scabbard and continued drawing until he had at least a foot of blade bare before his eyes.

He reacted in much the same manner as Willow had when she first laid eyes on it. "This blade…it's undeniably beautiful."

"As beautiful as the woman who owned it," was Willow's quiet reply.

Abraham quietly choked on his cigar, as soon as he managed to draw a breath, he slid the sword back into its scabbard and met Willow's gaze directly. She did not hold it for long and quickly turned away as though in some amount of pain. Abraham stubbed out his cigar on the window sill and tucked the remainder of it into his breast pocket before crossing the floor to his sister's side. He tried to keep the surprise from showing on his face as Willow suddenly crumpled into a tearful ball in his lap. Her fingers latched onto the front of his waistcoat and she held the fabric in a white-knuckled grip as though she would never let him go. He merely sat, his arms gently cradling her as she sobbed, waiting until she was ready to tell him about the owner of the sword.

"Who was she?" Abraham asked quietly as Willow's tears had subsided, she was now wiping her wet nose against his front.

"Oh Abraham," Willow mumbled. "Why is it that everyone I love dies? Mother died giving birth to me, father passed away and left the two of us alone…then Tara…and Ayako died because I was not at her side."

"Do not be ridiculous," Abraham tried to keep his voice firm but he was faltering slightly when he finished what he intended to say. "I am still here."

Abraham immediately regretted saying anything at all; it came out sounding so flat and desperate in the face of Willow's sadness. He made up for his inadequate words by cradling her all the more firmly against his chest. Just when he thought Willow was not going to answer his question, she opened her mouth and started speaking; painting in words a portrait of the raven-haired Japanese woman she had fallen in love with.

He had to admit that from Willow's description of her, Ayako sounded to be the perfect foil for her impetuous and arrogant demeanour; he did not voice his opinions aloud however, for fear of upsetting her further. There was little point in discussing what might have been.

"She died before I could admit that I loved her, before I had the courage to press my lips against hers or know her body as well as I know my own, I only wish…" Willow drew her story to a close with a deep breath. "What does it matter…my entire life has been filled with pain and suffering, and the only time I was truly happy was during those short months with Tara, and even then her family and…that man, were a constant shadow hanging over our heads."

"Heroes are forged through pain and suffering," Abraham offered, not at all sure why the words tumbled from his lips.

Willow frowned as though she too were confused by Abraham's choice of words. "I'm no hero Abraham."

"You are," Abraham replied firmly, no longer unsure sure of his words. "You've chosen to spend your life selflessly keeping people safe…even though they have no idea you're doing it…and you're riding off to do battle against a scourge that has lurked unseen for hundreds of years and is soon to rise again if we fail."

Willow remained unconvinced. "I should never have entertained thoughts of a relationship with Ayako. I knew the situation we faced and the likelihood of danger…and even had she lived I would have brought her back to all this."

Willow waved her hand in the direction of the assorted weapons and armour piled up in front of her, seeing them as accoutrements of a lonely life.

"You would have brought her home to your own house, and your family…and I'm sure from what you have just told me of her that she already accepted the life you live," Abraham said quietly. "I should have very much liked to meet her."

Willow smiled briefly. "She said the same thing of you before she died."

With a quick pat on Willow's shoulder, Abraham stood and walked over to the large mirror mounted on Willow's wall. It was a gift he had commissioned for her twenty-fourth birthday. He traced his fingers over the beautiful silverwork, depicting small snippets of Willow's life with space spare at the top for further additions.

"We should add something of your Japanese voyage to the mirror," Abraham suggested, glancing over his shoulder back at Willow. "I'll arrange it as soon as we return."

Willow just nodded a pensive expression on her face. She loved that mirror and certainly not out of any tendencies towards vanity on her part but rather because of the stories Abraham had seen fit to include around its frame. As much as they saddened her, she had to admit that she liked the idea of having those Japanese memories committed to silver. Her gaze travelled from the mirror, around the rest of her room. While her time spent at Gordon Square had been far from idyllic, she had grown to love the house.

"I don't know why," Willow mused as she stared at the mirror. "But I have the funny feeling that I will never see this house again."

"Do not even jest of such things, Willow," Abraham berated her sternly.

Willow simply shrugged. "I was not jesting…but if you would rather I did not give voice to my feelings."

"I would rather you didn't give voice to that particular feeling," he replied curtly.

In complete contrast to the rather sombre air that had been created in the room, Willow's face broke into a small grin. She rolled and flopped awkwardly off the side of the bed, hoping to earn a small smile from Abraham as a result of her antics. However, his face remained stern as she came to stand in front of him, reaching up to rest her hands on his shoulders.

"You worry too much Abraham," she commented. "I will have my brother watching over me…what can possibly go wrong?"

* * *

Despite being on edge the whole time, the first week of their journey across Europe proved almost completely uneventful for the small party. Giles, Abraham and Willow travelled by horse for speed and only stopped for a brief period each night to rest and feed themselves as they raced to Covasna. Abraham had very thoughtfully provided Willow with a rotund but stout-hearted horse named Tubby. Although Willow had initially had her doubts, Tubby did his very best to maintain the pace of the much larger animals Giles and Abraham rode. Even so, a slow trot meant an extremely uncomfortable journey for one who hated horses as much as Willow. She thoroughly expected to arrive at Covasna too tired and stiff to fight.

Abraham, who of course spent as much time in a saddle as he did on his own two feet, actually managed to sleep quite comfortably with his chin tucked onto his chest. He was doing so on one particular morning, slumped astride his large black destrier. Giles was some way up ahead, out of sight on the narrow road ahead. The warlock preferred solitude as he rode. Willow knew that he was worried about how events at Covasna were going to unfold and this occupied his thoughts constantly. Willow turned her attention back to her brother and studied his peaceful face, not for the first time she appreciated just how handsome a man he really was. Throughout his life, the past few years especially, he had more than proved his worth as a protector to her. However, she absently wondered at the key element that was missing in his life. Awkwardly, Willow spurred her horse forwards to come up directly alongside her brother.

"Abraham," Willow called softly so as not to startle Abraham, his chin jerked up almost immediately indicating that he had merely been dozing. "Forgive me if I am prying…but I think as your sister I should be able to ask you anything, and there has been one particular question which has weighed on my mind for some time now."

He smiled as easily as he always did. "Anything dear sister, you may ask absolutely anything of me."

"Why have you not married?" the question came more abruptly than Willow had intended but she was surprised by just how quickly the smile disappeared from her brother's face.

Almost as quickly, he turned his head aside and the expression that had replaced the smile was lost to Willow. When Abraham turned to face her once more, the small smile was back in place and she was left to wonder at what had just passed through his mind.

"I know more than a few men who are not married at my age…although granted, few are quite as eligible as me," his voice was light in tone but Willow suspected it was a front concealing something deeper.

"And certainly none as handsome," Willow teased him predominantly to cover up her own unease. "Do you plan to one day…marry that is?"

This time Willow could see the expression that replaced Abraham's smile; it was one of decided discomfort. In fact, as Willow studied his face further, she thought that it could almost be an expression of guilt. While she did not like to think she had dredged up something which caused him pain, now that she had opened the jar Willow had to know what it was that vexed her brother so. A small inkling began to surface at the back of her mind and so wondered whether she might dare speak aloud her suspicions, however implausible they seemed. Willow was so absorbed in this issue that she narrowly avoided contact with a low hanging branch on the trail. She ducked urgently, in time for it merely to snag a few wayward strand of her hair.

"Ouch!" Willow muttered, rubbing her head as she turned to glare at the offending branch.

Beneath her, Tubby began to prance awkwardly, as though sensing that his rider was off-balance. Sensing that Willow was in danger of slipping from the saddle, Abraham reached out to hold Tubby by his harness, stroking his nose until he clamed. Willow was a little white-faced when he turned to look at her.

"You would think I would be able to at least sit comfortably on a horse by now," Willow sighed with exasperation. "If can wield a sword with no small amount of skill…"

"That's an understatement," Abraham added.

Willow smiled, her horse-fear already forgotten," Well, any skill I do possess is due largely to your highly effective and patient tutelage."

"Nonsense," Abraham was quick to reply, "I dare say that you could best me with one hand tied behind your back…Willow, your skill is entirely a result of your own determination and inherent talent…but we are both digressing, I think there was an answer you wanted and I know you will fret if you do not uncover the truth."

"Are you like me?" Willow blurted out suddenly, her cheeks immediately colouring.

Abraham frowned lightly. "Like you, Willow? In what way?"

"A S-Sapphist...or rather, I mean…not that term exactly because you're a man but…"

Abraham supplied the words that she could not. "Do I prefer men?"

Willow ducked her head, feeling ashamed for bringing up the subject in the first place. It was Abraham's business alone on whom he bestowed his affections. She had been wrong to ask in the first instance.

"Chin up, my dear Willow," Abraham reached out and lightly brushed his sister's reddened cheek. "I would hope that you would accept me if I was that way inclined…but I am not…and I guess you might say that I am like you in that we both share a passion for the female form."

"Then who, I have never seen you look twice at any women…I honestly think I have spent more time staring at bosoms than you," Willow tried to jest but the expression on Abraham's face was unnerving.

"I have only loved but one woman in all my twenty-eight years," Abraham replied quietly, almost reluctantly.

"Please do not tell me that it is me…or our mother…because that would be truly pathetic," Willow commented with a short laugh, seeking only to lighten his heavy mood.

Abraham shook his head, his mood unchanged, his heavy countenance only serving to make Willow regret ever bringing the subject up.

"I love you more than life itself Willow…." Abraham breathed deeply. "Which is why I could never exhibit anything more than a brotherly affection for the woman who stole both our hearts at the Marlborough's picnic."

"Oh Abraham…" Willow whispered as comprehension dawned. Her brother had silently loved Tara and watched her grow closer to his own sister without a thought of ever making a move for himself. In knowing the depth and intensity of her own feelings for the beautiful blonde, she understood some of his torment and felt her own heart break for him. " Why did you not...you should have told me at least."

"Should I have?" Abraham's tone was verging on bitter, although he quickly suppressed this and when he continued his voice was merely taut. "How could I ever seek to compete with my little sister, you have been far more blessed that I when it comes to wit, intelligence, beauty and charm…how could Tara have chosen otherwise?"

While Willow could understand the depth of her own feelings, she could not put herself in her brother's shoes. Would she have pressed her attentions on Tara even if she was being courted by her brother? Would she have stood back as Abraham had done and simply watched as the woman she loved was courted by another? Willow was fervently glad circumstances had not worked out that way for she knew her heart…and she would never have let Tara get away from her.

Even as she came to understand the extent of her brother's sacrifice, another, far uglier thought reared in her mind. She fought to suppress it, knowing only ill would come if she gave voice to it but her mouth opened and the words tumbled forth.

"You could have asked her parents for her hand in marriage! The thought never crossed my mind at the time…but I am sure it crossed yours. You were a far better match for her than Edward Walsh ever was…our family name may not be as distinguished as that of the Walsh's but it was fortune the Maclay's were seeking, not name," Willow did not stop to even appreciate the look of horror on her brother's face. "Why did you not?"

"Please do not suggest such a thing to me, Willow," Abraham whispered. He was truly traumatised by his sister's suggestion. "To suggest such a thing in hindsight has no purpose whatsoever and it will not bring her back."

Willow was far from satisfied. "You are avoiding my question, you could have married her!"

"I _could have_ married her, Willow. Past tense!" Abraham's voice rose but he did not resort to shouting. "It is over, Tara is dead, let us not speak of what might have been!"

"You still have not answered my question!"

Beneath him, Abraham's horse quivered, sensing his rider's discomfort and rising anger, with a shaking hand he reached down to pat the horse's neck. He could not bring himself to look at his sister although he could feel her eyes boring into the back of his head as she waited for his answer.

"I could have married her in name yes, but she would have always been yours. Willow, put yourself in my shoes for just a moment. Could you ever imagine anything as awful as having what you want more than anything in the world in name only, having it and not being able to do anything about it?" His voice had taken on a hint of desperation. "I would have a wife but no lover…and for the sake of decency I would be unable to marry again or even take a lover in all but the utmost secrecy. You know what kind of man I am Willow, I could not bring myself to do that…even for my sister."

"So instead you let her marry that pig?" Willow demanded unsympathetically.

"I have given you everything, Willow!" Abraham protested. "Would you also have me suffer a marriage to a woman I loved but could never have?"

"To save her life? Yes!" Willow replied immediately.

Abraham's expression was crestfallen but he continued to meet his sister's demanding gaze without flinching. He could see the anger written clearly on her face, it was an anger that had little time for rational thinking.

It was Willow who had to turn away first, she wrenched her gaze away and decided that a physical separation was also needed. Tubby needed several prods from her heels before he picked up his pace and moved her away from Abraham. Without looking back she kept up the pace until she caught up to Giles. The warlock glanced around at the unexpected company but had a warm smile for her all the same. It was a smile Willow could not return for fear of letting her built up rage escape. This of course resulted in her cheeks flaming a bright, hot red to match the roots of her hair.

"Willow, you seem upset?" Giles questioned gently.

"I don't want to talk about it," was Willow's curt reply.

"Perhaps Abraham could help?" Giles began; unaware of what had passed between the two siblings behind him on the trail.

"My brother and I are not on speaking terms," Willow replied in a firm voice.

Giles did not ask Willow any further questions but he did feel that their chances for success had just taken a sharp turn for the worse.

* * *

It was a dark, heavy night in Klausenberg. Not a trace of moon or stars managed to break through the thick, oppressive layer of cloud which hung over the city. The inhabitants could sense something ill being brought with the weather and kept indoors, their doors and shutters barred. All in all, it was a fitting atmosphere for the events to come, dark weather for dark days.

No one was more aware of this than Willow Van Helsing as she stalked Klausenberg's streets at night. Nearing the end of their long journey, their destination now almost in sight, she could not allow herself to relax to the point where sleep would come. She remained on edge, tense to the point of breaking and unable to remain cooped up indoors, especially in close proximity to her brother. In just a short week since Abraham's confession, the once close relationship between the siblings had disintegrated to the point that neither could manage a single word to the other in greeting let alone apology. Willow was all the more uncomfortable because she knew in her heart that the apology was hers to make, having been the one responsible for the rift in the first place and also the one who was unable to see past her conclusion that Tara's death had been Abraham's fault. Willow had known this conclusion to be ridiculous in the extreme from the movement it originally left her lips, but she could not let it go. Now she clung to her anger as though it were all that kept her going.

So she walked the streets when she knew she ought to be resting for what was to come, a lone figure daring to venture outside. She had swapped her stained and dusty travel clothes for her black hunting outfit, forgoing a jacket even in the night chill. Ayako's katana rested at her side, lightly slapping her thigh with every step she made. The thoughts racing through her busy mind were bleak, so bleak that the scream that suddenly tore through the still night was a welcome relief. Willow's entire body responded, her muscles immediately tensing as she sprang into action. Her booted feet made no sound even as she sprinted at full speed across the cobbles in the direction of the scream.

When she came upon the scene, she felt blood coursing through her veins, not in fear but excitement. This was what she lived for, it was exactly what she needed.

Four vampires had cornered one lone figure. The victim was backed up in a dead-end alleyway with no way out. Willow could only just make out the cloaked victim, the cowl was up over their head but from the earlier scream, she knew it was a woman. They were taunting her, making swipes and lunges for her with no amount of urgency. Their clawed fingers were grabbing at her clothes even as she pleaded and hugged the wall behind her in an effort to get as far away from them as possible. Willow's fists clenched as one demon strode forward and struck her across the head with the flat of his hand. Her head snapped sideways and she fell to her hands and knees.

Without announcing her presence, Willow lightly sprang up onto a nearby staircase and used that as a vantage point from which to leap over the heads of the vampires and drop between them and their prey. All four snarled when their path was suddenly blocked by a dark figure with only the white teeth of her grin flashing in the darkness.

Willow cast a glance back over her shoulder, although she could not see her face, Willow could clearly tell the woman was terrified by the manner in which her whole body shook. She gently but firmly grabbed her by the upper arm and pushed her back into a corner.

"Stay back!" Willow commanded the woman. "Let me deal with the scum."

Willow drew her katana and held it steady before her with both hands on the grip. The four vampires were advancing on her. Judging by the grins on their faces, Willow could see that they had overcome their initial surprise and were expecting to add a second victim to their tally for the evening. She knew she would prove them wrong. In a heartbeat, her body surged forward with the katana in her hands working as an extension of her arm. The vampire in the centre was decapitated before the other three could even blink.

Even though there were still three of them, the vampires did not stand a chance in the face of Willow's rage. Everything that she had allowed to build up within herself over the past week, especially the intensity of her anger towards her brother, it all escaped in the quick, brutal combat that followed.

When the remaining three came at her it was as one, three snarling demons hoping to overwhelm the one woman opposite them with one brutal strike. When two were forced to stumble backwards a moment later, they realised that their companion was lying face down on the cobbles beneath Willow's boot. With a grin she whipped a stake out from the pocket of her waistcoat and drove it downwards. The creature writhed for an awful moment before collapsing into a pile of dust.

"You want to rethink your evening meal, lads?" Willow drawled, twirling her katana around in her hand. "Your friends certainly do."

The two vampires looked at one another and wisely decided that this one particular meal was too much trouble. They turned and made a break for it, sprinting back towards the open street. However, Willow was not about to let them ago, even had she promised something to that effect, she would have broken it anyway.

The vampires were fast, but Willow was faster. One lagged slightly behind and Willow decapitated him from behind. His legs continued running for a few steps before his exploding body showered her with dust. For the second, Willow shifted her grip on the stake in her hand and with a flick of her wrist, it went sailing straight into his back. He screamed and stumbled, joining all of his companions in destruction.

With her quarry reduced to little more than dust on the cobbles, Willow was finally able to turn her attention to the woman she had just rescued. She retrieved her stake from the ground and turned to walk back to the end of the alley. As she tried to make out her face beneath the shadow of her cowl, Willow wondered what sort of woman would walk the streets of Klausenberg alone at night…besides herself of course. Instinctively, she did not put her katana away.

The woman straightened, her frightened, defensive posture falling from her shoulders like a cloak. She walked towards Willow, her confident strides graceful and elegant. Something about her was distinctly unnerving and Willow could not find any words, even to ask if she were unharmed.

"How can I ever thank you enough?" the woman whispered in a deep throated tone, the sound of it stirring familiar feelings in Willow's gut.

With two pale hands, she reached up and gently lifted her hood away from her face and let it fall to settle on her shoulders.

Willow could only manage one word in a strangled whisper as she made out the all too familiar features in the darkness.

"Tara."


	21. If You're Going to Turn Me

**Chapter Twenty-One  
If You're Going to Turn Me...**

A split second after the name left her lips Willow lifted her katana in one fluid movement and levelled it towards the throat of the creature who stood so calmly in front of her. Although her heart continued to thud loudly in her chest, her initial surprise faded quickly. She had been anticipating this moment for more than four years. Every night she stalked the dark alleys of London, with each corner she turned and shadow she searched, she had expected to be confronted with the face of her dead lover. She had never been able to predict her reaction to seeing the demon that had once been Tara Maclay and now that she was standing face to face with her, she still did not know.

"You're dead..." Willow heard herself whisper the words. "You're not just dead…you're a…"

She was unable to say what Tara had become. That awful word glued her tongue to the roof of her mouth and all she could do was stand in mute silence with her katana still levelled in the demon's direction.

Willow could not decide whether she was angry, scared or relieved that the time had finally come. She thought perhaps that it was a mixture of all three, although she was so confused she could not separate one emotion from the other. The anger was there in spades, here was the creature who now inhabited her beloved's body and had effectively killed Tara and stolen the physical attributes Willow loved. Her blues eyes were every bit as bright as Willow remembered, so bright they almost pierced her own. The blonde hair was a little paler but every bit as lustrous as it fell about her face and over her shoulders. She even dared to smile Tara's smile with one lip curling higher than the other in exactly the same manner as the smiles that had melted Willow's heart when Tara had been alive. Willow's anger intensified, her grip was white-knuckled as she held her katana outstretched towards the demon.

However, hand in hand with the anger that coursed through her body was an unhealthy dose of fear. It was her fear that kept her feet frozen to the same spot where she knew she should be moving before the demon could surge forward and sink its fangs into her neck. Willow's heat skipped several beats when it stepped suddenly forward, not stopping until the blade of the katana was pressed into the pale white skin at its throat.

The demon arched a pair of perfect eyebrows. "Are you planning on cleaving my head from my shoulders with your beautifully shiny sword?"

"That is a distinct possibility," Willow replied slowly, watching as the tip of the katana brushed Tara's hair. "After all, this weapon is not just for show."

Willow watched as a strange, almost fervent expression took hold of the creature's features. However, within a few more of Willow's heartbeats, the expression was gone and replaced by one that appeared similar to the earnest expression Tara had often worn in life.

"I have heard of your prowess and I have no doubt that you could destroy me…but there is another possibility I would like to suggest…if you would lower your sword and listen?" As it spoke, its voice lost some of its deep throated quality and sounded much like the Tara that Willow remembered.

"Speak quickly, demon," Willow's harsh voice barely concealed her nervousness, did she detect a hint of fear in the vampire's voice?

"Those of my own kind who attacked me just now, they were trying to kill me because they knew what I was coming to offer you," the vampire began.

Willow's eyes narrowed with unrestrained suspicion. "I tire of this conversation already…you are running out of time!"

"They had somehow discovered that I hope to aid you at Covasna." The demon swallowed quickly and continued, "I believe it was their plan to bring me back to our Master and lay bare their accusations against me, all true of course, for I do indeed want to offer you my services. I have you to thank for slaying them and preventing word of my treachery reaching my Master."

Willow knew she ought to be refusing to listen to such honeyed words and instead digging her blade further into the vampire's throat but instead all she could do was feel hope coursing through her body. She had spent the last four years thoroughly expecting to have to slay the demon that was Tara. She had never even allowed herself to hope that the demon would retain more than a shred of the woman Tara used to be. However, here she was, standing there with her blue eyes pleading desperately. Willow searched the demon's face and saw far too much of the woman she had loved more than anything.

Although she did not consciously come to the realisation in her head, Willow was no longer looking at a demon…but at the woman she loved. Slowly but surely, she lowered the katana until she held it at her side, pointed downwards.

Tara was able to take another step closer to Willow as she continued, "You know what comes in a few days hence, in the deepest dead of night his army will be reborn as the skull is returned to his captain and you will most likely die trying to stop him…unless of course you have my help."

Willow ran her tongue over her dry lips. "How will you help us?"

"During this past year especially, I have risen high in Dracula's favour, all the while seeking to exploit his knowledge and gain his trust so that I might eventually bring about his downfall." Tara spoke fervently, as though this was something that she had been anticipating for some time. "I am close enough to his inner circle that I will be able to replace the skull with a close copy, a fake essentially, one which will do nothing to revive the captain…at that moment, as his plans come crashing down around him, you and I will kill him."

"It sounds almost too good to be true." Despite the hope surging through her body, Willow could not allow herself to take Tara's words at face value.

Tara's face remained serious. "It will not be easy by any stretch of the imagination, I risk destruction in trying to swap the skulls in the first place, and if I fail then you will be on your own…and you also will fail. Dracula will also have many of his minions surrounding him at Covasna, it will be necessary for you to cut a path through them in order to reach him."

"I do that for a living," Willow stated as if it were of little consequence. "What I don't understand is why you would want to help me at all…you'll understand if I'm finding this all a little difficult to believe. You're a demon, I usually kill demons because they're evil."

Tara's stern expression melted and was quickly replaced by something resembling anguish. "Could I ever truly be evil, Willow?"

Willow averted her gaze; she could not look into Tara's eyes and give the reply that was on her lips. As long as she was not looking at her, she could still think of the creature standing opposite her as a demon.

"Tara Maclay could never be evil…but you ceased to be her from the moment your heart stopped beating," Willow paused, drew in a deep breath and lifted her gaze until she was staring into those blue eyes once more. "Tara is dead."

The vampire's expression twisted into a painful grimace as though Willow's words had been ones she hoped never to hear.

In the face of her pain, Willow had to bite her lip and almost regretted saying such a thing. She knew it was a foolish thought to possess; she had spoken nothing but the truth and should feel no remorse for the demon's sufferings. Her fingers tightened around the hilt of her katana once more as she willed herself the courage to make the one strike she had been anticipating for years. It should have been so simple, merely a repeat of a movement she had carried out so many times over the past few years. She would bring the sword up and before the demon could even blink, bring it sweeping across and send its head rolling across the cobbles. Tara's body would explode and shower her with dust…and it would be over.

However, Willow had allowed the vampire's offer of assistance to plant the seeds of hope inside her. A part of her already believed that the words Tara spoke were indeed the truth and she would help her defeat Dracula at Covasna. She felt her grip slacken once more and realised that after all this time, after imagining her reunion with Tara's body…that she could not bring herself to destroy it. Willow realised hot tears were burning at her eyes; several had already escaped and were leaving a glistening trail down her cheeks.

With the katana held loosely at her side, there was no way Willow could have defended herself if the next movement Tara made turned out to be an attack. When the vampire surged forward, Willow merely closed her eyes as she felt Tara's body press against her own. However, the sharp pain in her neck never came; instead she felt a silky soft finger wiping the tears from her cheeks. She opened her eyes and exhaled, Tara was so close she felt her knees go weak. The stake she had almost forgotten she held clattered to the ground.

"Why do you cry, Willow?" Tara whispered, her own voice breaking slightly.

"I miss the woman you were," Willow replied honestly, closing her eyes once more.

As Willow shut out the sight of the vampire's pale flesh and ignored the smell of dead roses, she could imagine that it was her lover's touch stroking her cheeks.

"So you crave my touch?"

"I do not crave your touch," Willow's lie was blatant as she leaned against the hand that cupped her face.

"I would have thought you would have taken many lovers in the last four years…you are a beautiful and passionate woman who desires love and the feel of flesh upon flesh. Yet I sense that you have not bowed to these desires?"

"No, there was one other," Willow admitted in a soft voice, immediately thinking of the beautiful Japanese girl whom she thought could help her ease her pain. "But she too is gone."

"You must be lonely," Tara whispered as she trailed her fingers down from Willow's cheek, over her neck and to the collar of her shirt.

"Yes."

If her words did not already betray her, Willow's breathing certainly did. She drew in desperate, hoarse gasps for air as Tara's fingers played over the skin of her neck, When those same fingers began undoing the topmost buttons of her shirt, she did not resist as the creamy flesh of her upper chest was slowly exposed.

"Do not torment me so!" Willow growled, opening her eyes and suddenly seizing Tara by her neck.

In one violent move, Willow spun Tara around and forced her back against the wall behind her with a firm shove. She kept her fingers around the pale white throat, digging her nails into the flesh so fiercely she felt them break the skin. Tara continued to regard her with a liquid gaze, unshed tears in her own eyes that only served to further anger a confused Willow. With shaking hands, Willow fumbled inside the pocket of her waistcoat and drew forth her second stake instead of bending to retrieve the one she dropped earlier. Using the point of the stake, she tore open the buttons at the front of Tara's dress to expose the white skin between her breasts.

"Regardless of your words, I should drive this stake through your heart," Willow growled.

Tara gasped, desperation clearly showing on her face before she spoke. "You may feel free to ignore my offer of help…but can you ignore a chance for us to be together as we once were?"

"Silence!" Willow demanded. "I will hear no more of your lies, demon!"

"Willow, please!" Tara pleaded, even as she felt Willow jam the stake against the flesh covering her lifeless heart. "Why do you think I tried to get close to Dracula in the first place, I didn't know about Covasna and the skull or his army, how could I? I hoped only to learn of a way to reverse what had happened to me…to live once more so I could be with you!"

"Lies! Such a thing is not possible!" Willow cried, driving the stake further forward.

"It is, Willow, it is! If anyone would know it to be possible then it would be the most powerful vampire of all…I have discovered the secret…if you'll only give me the chance…please believe me?"

Willow searched Tara's face but could find nothing to indicate that she was not telling the truth. It had been Giles who initially told her it was not possible to save a person once they had been turned…and she trusted her mentor…did she trust her dead lover?

As the thought was tumbling over and over in Willow's mind, Tara moved forward, her lips seeking out and claiming Willow's in the first kiss the two had shared for more than four years. Every thought that had been clogging her mind suddenly vanished to be replaced by a fierce, driving hunger that she knew could not be satisfied without the feel of her lover moving inside her. She lost herself to that kiss and nothing else mattered, not Covasna and the skull and certainly not Giles and Abraham asleep at the hotel. The stake fell from her fist, leaving an angry red welt in the centre of Tara's chest. Moments later the katana fell from her right hand, the sound it made as it hit the ground was louder, but still completely unnoticed.

Although a part of Willow was more than aware that this was not the Tara she loved, she could all too easily suppress such thoughts, especially as she began stripping back the layers of clothing that separated them, it was easy to believe it was Tara's breasts her mouth sought out…because in essence they were. As her lips closed over the mounds of flesh she found herself overwhelmed by the scent of white roses, and visions of their time together at Hagley Park. She imagined herself being with Tara there instead of in a dirty alley in a foreign city.

The tables were turned moments later, and it was Willow's turn to be slammed back against the wall. Tara threw her with such intensity she felt the wind knocked from her lungs. She didn't care, for a split second later Tara had ripped open both her shirt and waistcoat and laid her heaving breasts bare before her. Even as she dipped her head to take one into her mouth, her fingers worked at the buttons on the breeches that barred her path. They were undone swiftly and seconds later they were dragged down to pool at Willow's ankles. Willow found her bare arse scraping against the wall behind her as Tara's body ground into her, hands moving over the newly exposed flesh.

"I don't care if you're lying," Willow whispered, completely losing herself to Tara's knowing hands. "But if you're going to turn me, can you please fuck me first?"

"I knew you were hungry for me from the moment I drew back my hood…the need was obvious," Tara drawled, dragging teasing fingers across Willow's inner thighs.

A small whimper escaped from Willow's throat as Tara fingers travelled everywhere except where she needed them most. Her hips jerked forward repeatedly of their own accord, thrusting in search of much needed friction.

"I need-" Willow's sentence was cut short as she suddenly cried out with a throaty gasp, one of Tara's fingers worked its way between her folds and grazed the engorged nub within. "Oh gods…please, I need your fingers inside me…now!"

Willow suddenly found herself lifted upwards with strong hands. Tara grasped her buttocks and pressed her back against the wall with such force that Willow grunted with pain. However, as soon as Tara had slammed several fingers deep within her moist cunt, grunts of a different kind emerged from her mouth. It was all she could do to wrap her legs around Tara's back and bury her face in the soft blonde hair to stifle the moans that tore from the back of her throat as the thrusting fingers were buried deep. She was not capable of realising and appreciating the inhuman strength Tara was expending to maintain the position. Also, despite the cold of the night and the sweat beading on her own half-naked body, the body moving beneath her remained as cold and as smooth as marble.

Moving beneath Willow, her increasingly urgent cries were deafening in Tara's ears but the vampire did not pause to consider for a second whether they would disturb any sleeping inhabitants, instead she concentrated everything on bringing the redhead to the climax she needed. Just how quickly it did come was an indication of Willow's intense and overwhelming hunger. She could feel Willow's need in the way her heels dug into the small of her back and the way her hands clawed desperately. She could hear it in the uncontrolled cries that filled the night air. Only moments later Tara felt the tender and engorged flesh of Willow's sex spasm uncontrollably as she climaxed. More juices continued to coat her hand and Willow's thighs. Tara thrust her fingers deep for a few last, firm strokes, feeling Willow's cunt contract around her flesh. With her cheek resting against Willow's heaving chest, she allowed herself a small smile of satisfaction.

It took Willow a long time to come down from her orgasmic high. She still had her eyes closed when Tara gently withdrew her fingers from the sopping wetness between her legs and lowered her back down towards the ground. Her legs buckled beneath her weight as soon as her feet hit the ground and it was only Tara's arms around her body and the wall behind her that kept her upright.

Willow opened her eyes and saw nothing except Tara's smiling face in front of her eyes. It was all too easy to believe that the last four years had never taken place. However, Covasna was all too prevalent in both their minds for that to remain the case for long.

"I don't want to turn you, Willow," Tara reassured her lover.

"I know," Willow was momentarily surprised that she could actually still speak. "I'm just finding everything a little difficult."

"Understandable," Tara agreed.

"Can you stay?" Willow's voice was still more than a little breathless.

"There is nothing I would like more…but I have little time, there is much work that needs to be done," Tara whispered as she nuzzled against Willow's neck, her hands moved from the small of Willow's back to cup her firm buttocks once more, she squeezed and kneaded the flesh between her fingers.

"For both of us," Willow agreed.

There was a brief moment of silence between the two. Willow realised that Tara was studying her face intently, as though she too were searching for the truth.

"Do you trust me?" Tara asked.

Her question was immediately greeted with silence and when she drew back so she could see Willow's face she found the young woman biting her lip as though unsure of herself. She found herself smiling; it was the same old Willow. She had never been one for hiding her emotions. \"Do you trust me?" Tara repeated, her voice softer this time.

Willow finally gave the tiniest of nods. "I've always trusted you, Tara."

"I will see you soon," Tara whispered, placing a last lingering kiss on Willow's lips.

Willow melted her entire body feeling like liquid in Tara's arms, her lips were still touching Tara's when she spoke. "Yes, at Covasna."

Tara did not move her mouth. "I love you."

Willow closed her eyes, letting the simple words wash over her like a healing balm; she could not restrain a small smile from curling the corners of her lips. However, even as she opened her mouth to reply she felt the weight of Tara's body leave her and her own body sagged back against the wall without its support. When she opened her eyes she saw that Tara had disappeared into the night.

Willow felt the salty tang of blood in her mouth. She pressed her fingers to her tongue and when she drew them back she found blood on her fingertips where Tara's fangs had cut into the delicate flesh. Her hands were shaking as she wiped the blood off on her shirt sleeve. She soon realised that it was her entire body which was cold and drew up her breeches from where they had pooled down around one ankle and refastened them with shaking fingers. As she cast her gaze downwards, she saw the katana lying in the filth of the alley and quickly stooped to retrieve it. She wiped the surface dirt from its blade with the sleeve of her shirt before sliding it back into its scabbard.

Willow drew her waistcoat and shirt across her naked chest and stumbled back to the hotel, drunk from the effects of Tara's intoxicating scent, still feeling the lingering effects of their frantic coupling. Although the cold night air was brining her back to her senses, she remained gripped by the overwhelming sensation of hope she felt. While the past four years had passed in a violent, largely unhappy daze, Willow finally allowed herself to feel that she had a future. The three of them had been going to Covasna almost blindly, with no knowledge of how they would stop Dracula…and even if they succeeded Willow had imagined her long years alone stretching out in front of her like a prison sentence. Now, with Tara on their side, she was filled with optimism for both a victory at Covasna, and a future together.

She was still half in a daze when she awkwardly opened the door to her hotel room. A small yelp of surprise escaped Willow's lips as found Giles standing in the middle of the floor with his arms folded across his chest. Willow immediately noticed the fear on his face and her first thoughts were that something awful had happened to Abraham. In a manner of speaking, she was very right.

"Willow…what have you done?" Giles asked in a low voice.

"What do you mean?" Willow whispered in reply, almost certain that there was no way Giles could know what had just taken place in the darkened alley between her and Tara…although the thought that he could possibly know immediately left her chilled and breathless.

"Your brother has packed his bags and left…and all he said to me by way of explanation was 'Willow will know why,'" Giles stated, his voice trembling slightly. "Willow…do you know why?"

Willow felt an intense heat flood her cheeks and she tore her gaze away from Giles's. In the heat of her frantic coupling with Tara, she had seen a shadowy figure in the distance. However, when she looked twice it had gone once more. She had barely been capable of coherent thought at that point anyway and had dismissed it outright.

Now that she remembered the incident and the tall, broad-shouldered figure, she knew it could very well have been her brother.

"Yes."

The single word emerged as a drawn out confession but Willow had already come to the realisation that, although a part of her was worried about the widening of the rift between them, she was glad that her brother would not be joining them at Covasna. He would be safe…and she would succeed with Tara's help.

She could mend the rift with her brother when it was all over.

* * *

Abraham Van Helsing did not know where he was going; all he knew was that he desperately needed a means of forgetting. He stumbled across a dark little rundown dive in a seedy part of Klausenberg, the sign dangling from rusty hinges above the door bore a crude representation of a bottle. He thrust the door open and was greeted with a startled expression from the bar's other patrons, all three of them.

He ordered a drink from the greasy haired bartender. No sooner had the dirty glass been filled with liquid, he picked it up and poured it down his throat as though he could not drink it fast enough. He slammed it back down and motioned for it to be refilled. As more drink was poured, Abraham drew out a fistful of coins from his wallet and the bartender knew that he was to keep it flowing. Already scooping the coins into his dirty, scuffed hands, the bartender did not question the motives of this well-dressed foreigner who had stumbled into his bar on a night where few others would venture out.

Having secured an uninterrupted supply of liquor, Abraham slumped onto a nearby stool and reached with shaking hands for his glass. He repeated the same swilling motion several times in quick succession. However, no matter how many times he jerked his head back and poured another gulp of burning liquor down his throat, he could not erase from his mind the image of his sister pressed back against the wall of the dark alley, her legs wrapped around the back of the woman who was fucking her so thoroughly. He had seen the woman's blonde hair and thought it impossible that it would be her…that was until she turned her head slightly and he saw the unmistakeable profile of the demon that had been Tara Maclay. Abraham was determined to keep drinking until that image was lost in the fog of his mind.

He honestly couldn't care less if everything went to hell at Covasna, Willow had sown the seeds for her own success or failure and he was going to let her carry it out on her own.


	22. The Blade's Last Song

**Chapter Twenty-Two **  
**The Blade's Last Song**

"It is not a very pleasant spot," Willow commented idly as she gazed out over the broad plateau that was Covasna.

Both she and Giles were hidden beneath the thick evergreens that clung to the edges of the plateau. They had only been in position long enough to appreciate the fact that they had arrived just in time. They had ridden hard, barely stopping throughout the arduous trek up into the mountains and had arrived dirty and tired, but in time to stop the resurrection. The dead warriors were still very much dead, nothing more than misshapen piles of bone and rusty armour. Willow could almost reach out and touch the nearest skeleton. Arrows riddled its back and its arm stretched towards the forest as though whoever it was had been fleeing at the moment of his death.

The focus of their combined attentions was the knot of figures standing near the centre of the plateau. As far as they could tell, Dracula and his cohorts were waiting for something, night Willow suspected. She glanced towards the sky; the sun's dying rays still stubbornly clinging to the horizon. There was still enough light to see their enemies in the distance, Willow could count more than a dozen dark shapes, vampires of all shapes and sizes. Although the one vampire she could recognise, and the one she hoped to see, was not there. She could see no sign of her unmistakable blonde hair in the distance.

Willow was about to ask Giles to point out which distant figure was Dracula when she realised that she already knew exactly who he was. Standing at the centre of his minions but somehow apart was a figure that moved as though his feet did not touch the ground. Willow could make out few of his features at such a distance save his pointed face and long, black hair but she could feel his presence coursing through her body. Even at such a distance, she felt his power and in turn was scared by it. How could she have ever thought that a mortal such as her would be able to slay the greatest vampire that had ever walked the earth?

Her fingers tightened around the hilt of her katana. She knew failure was not an option. Whatever the outcome of the evening and the night that followed, Willow knew she had to see Dracula reduced to nothing more than dust on the wind.

"It was never a pleasant spot," Giles interrupted Willow's thoughts as he agreed with her earlier statement. "Although the earth no longer runs red with rivers of blood…and the screams of dying men have faded somewhat."

"We will ensure such a scene is never repeated," Willow vowed, although never having heard the cries of battle herself, she could only imagine them to be gut wrenchingly awful. She silently prayed that she would never have to witness, or be part of such a slaughter.

She was about to discuss their plan with Giles when she felt a gentle touch on her shoulder. In a heartbeat her katana was out of its scabbard and she had whirled around on her knees. Her chest heaving slightly in anticipation, she found herself face to face with Tara.

"You have a penchant for holding your sword to my throat," Tara spoke quietly, her chin nodding ever so slightly towards the katana which hovered mere inches away from her neck.

Willow had only time to smile before anything she was about to say was interrupted by Giles. He turned too; his eyes were bulging for a second as he stared at the strange woman who had joined them out of nowhere. "Bloody hell!"

Moments after his panicked statement, Giles regained his composure and muttered a few words that barely reached Willow's ears. However, she clearly saw Tara's limbs move strangely moments later and she was suddenly whisked backwards at speed. Her body slammed into a tree and she was held fast, apparently unable to move.

Giles stood and advanced with one arm outstretched as though his fingers were wrapped around Tara's throat. The vampire's head tilted sideways as though Giles really was manipulating her by the neck. Moments later Willow seized Giles's arm and dragged it downwards, Tara was able to move her head once more.

"Giles, it is Tara…she is with us," Willow explained as she continued to wrestle with his arm.

Giles relaxed slightly but only because he was struggling to take in this information while staring at the blonde vampire. Willow slowly released him from her grip and he stood, his confusion immediately turning into suspicion.

"Regardless of whether or not this demon has the body of your loved one…she is still a demon," Giles growled. "And therefore not to be trusted!"

Willow turned her back on Tara to give Giles the full force of her anger.

"I trust her!" Willow replied in an angry whisper, not daring to raise her voice lest her words carry to the vampires standing on the plane.

"Tell me what she said to you to make you believe she could be trusted?" Giles demanded.

Willow met his challenging gaze, refusing to look away despite the awful twisting sensation in her gut. She knew full well that now was the least appropriate time to be arguing with the warlock. Each moment they wasted talking was another moment that they could be putting a stop to the resurrection. Giles's flint hard eyes demanded an answer to his question but Willow knew that she could not give him one. She could not explain how it felt to once more feel Tara's flesh against her own, to feel the way their bodies moved together in perfect synchronicity as they fucked. Because of those brief minutes in the alley, Willow felt invincible…and it was Tara that made her feel that way. It was Tara that gave her the strength to come to Covasna and face Dracula…not some soulless demon.

No, Willow could not answer Giles's question, she could find no words to express the way she felt…especially ones that avoided mentioning the naked, sweaty, fucking part. When she did not answer him, Giles let out a long-suffering sigh.

"Whatever she promised you…she will not deliver!" Giles's voice took on a sympathetic tone, as though he knew just how persuasive the body of a dead lover could be. "Willow, I beg you…turn around now and finish that thing…or allow me to do it if you cannot do it yourself."

"I will not!" Willow replied vehemently.

"I understand you both feel strongly about your respective positions…but we are running out of time."

At the sound of the quiet words interrupting their heated argument, both Willow and Giles turned to see Tara had freed herself from Giles bonds without either of them noticing. While Willow appeared immensely pleased, Giles's face began to drain of all colour.

"I apologise for Giles's behaviour," Willow reached out towards her lover.

"It is of no consequence, Willow. I am quite sure Rupert only has your best interests at heart," Tara spoke softly as she advanced towards Willow, she reached out and took the proffered hand but all the while kept her gaze fixed on a rather pale Giles. "After all, you were moments away from destroying me yourself just a few days ago."

Although he gave Willow and Tara a measure of space by taking a few grudging steps backward, Giles's expression betrayed his displeasure. When Willow met that gaze, she instinctively flinched as though she was guilty of a crime. She could not stand to stare at the blatant accusations on his face for long and quickly turned back to Tara, finding sanctuary in her cool blue eyes. There was no trace of animosity of contempt in her expression. Although Willow could not even begin to guess exactly what she was thinking, she did feel oddly reassured. Tara then reached out to cup her cheeks in cold hands, caressing the dirty skin softly with her thumbs. Willow felt somewhat ashamed and lowered her gaze; she was indeed stained from head to toe with all the grit and grime of weeks of hard travel. She felt dirt in her every pore and if she wasn't so used to it, she would have wrinkled her nose at the smell that clung to her clothes.

Tara however was exactly as she had been the night in the alley. Her blonde hair hung perfectly, settling down over the midnight black cloak she wore. Her face was just as perfect, unsullied by grime. Everything about her was perfect…

"We must move quickly to overpower him…I was unable to get close enough to switch the skull," Tara admitted.

"The skull is still real?" Willow whispered, a sinking feeling gripped her stomach as Tara nodded.

"Yes, but all is by no means lost; we still have time until the spell can even be carried out. Before that time is up we will have carved a path of destruction through those that stand with him before destroying Dracula himself," Tara explained fervently. "We have the advantage of surprise…and of your formidable skill."

"Onwards to glory or death then?" Willow suggested moments before she reached out with both hands and encircled Tara's waist.

She felt her fingers brush against the soft fabric of Tara's dress, felt traces of the smooth skin beneath and the ever present need she had carried with her since meeting Tara. It had been intensified tenfold by the night in the alley to the point where she felt as though she could force her hands beneath Tara's skirts and take her there in the forest. It was a raw, primal need that Willow was unaccustomed to feeling. The intensity of it frightened her more than a little until Tara erased her fears with a gentle kiss. It was Willow who deepened the kiss, moving forward so their bodies were pressed together.

Tara felt Willow's heart thudding against her chest, the organ beating so rapidly it felt as though it would burst from her skin. The strength of Willow's heartbeats made the absence of her own painfully obvious and she felt a pang of jealousy. Moments later she had to take a step back before her expression betrayed her discomfort. She smiled quickly to dispel any awkwardness her actions created.

"Who would have ever thought that you and I would have to fight a battle?" Tara added an element of humour to further put Willow at ease, she herself thought of the two young women attired in their finery as they attended a ball or lounged in the parlour at Hagley Park and couldn't imagine anything further removed from their present situation. "Follow me now Willow…and we will be together just as I promised."

"I will," Willow leaned in for a last kiss, even as her lips closed on Tara's she felt them disappear, when she opened her eyes the blonde had dissolved into her misty form.

With a decisive glint in her eye, Willow turned to face the plateau. She brushed past Giles a moment later and he could only stare at her back as she drew her katana with an almost eager motion. She viewed the group of vampires standing on the plateau as though they were mere targets that had been placed there for her amusement. The only one she really cared about was the tall figure at the centre. She was already grinning at the thought of seeing his curly locks flying through the air after separating his head from his shoulders.

"Willow you silly little fool!" Giles snapped at the girl's back as she broke from their cover and started towards the small group standing in the centre of the wide plateau. "Would you walk into hell if she told you to?"

He did not need to hear Willow's reply to know that the answer was 'yes.'

* * *

Tara reformed into solidity in the midst of her companions, most ignored her presence. Only William and Angelus and Dracula himself deigned to acknowledge that she was even present. Dracula gave her the barest nod and Tara replied in the same manner, their small exchange was either ignored or un-noticed by their assembled companions.

"And where have you been?" Angelus inquired coldly, looking her up and down as though searching for something out of place.

"Scouting," Tara replied, her own tone just as cool, hoping fervently that Angelus could not detect the lie in her voice. "As I was commanded."

Tara's contempt for the tall, solid, dark-haired vampire was barely concealed. She had spent three years with him in Greece and had hated him from the start. He was arrogant and cruel, hardly rare traits in vampires, but he took them to the extreme. Most significant of all however, he saw himself as Dracula's second in command, just one small step down from the Master himself. Tara searched his face and wondered how he felt on the verge of the resurrection of Dracula's Captain. Although there was an unmistakable hierarchy within vampirism, each individual was out to seize as much power for himself while paying the correct amount of respect to their Lord and Master.

"I cannot see why you should have been brought along at all," William snarled, clearly offended that such a lesser creature in his eyes should be privileged to witness such an event.

Tara ignored the skinny blonde vampire, knowing full well that her Master had seen fit to include her in the party. She turned her attention to the reason for their standing here on this miserable plateau in the middle of nowhere. The headless skeleton of Dracula's infamous captain lay partially embedded in the earth, the only thing to distinguish him from the thousands of other dead warriors was his elaborate armour. Although once undoubtedly fine, it was now pitted and rusted after lying for hundreds of years exposed to the elements. His magnificently horned helmet lay several feet away from his body, where it had fallen after being knocked from his head. Tara looked at his severed neck and imagined the skull rejoined to the body, flesh forming anew and she wrinkled her nose with disgust, having difficulty imaging such a sight.

"Who in the bloody hell is that?"

Tara was interrupted in her thoughts by William's confused drawl. She turned in the direction he was looking to see a single dark figure striding towards them. A small smile crossed her face at the brazen nature of Willow's approach; she had absolutely no need for subterfuge or surprise when she had more than enough confidence to see her through. Moments later a second figure emerged from the forest, this one breaking into a slightly awkward run in an effort to catch up to Willow.

Willow was now close enough for Tara to see the determination deeply etched on her face. Her eyes were narrowed with concentration, one fist closed around the hilt of her sword, and the other around the stock of a loaded crossbow.

"You two…" William barked at a nearby pair of vampires and jabbed his finger in the direction of the intruder, "Deal with that!"

Grins crossed the face of the two vampires William had signalled out, obviously thinking that they were going to receive a quick meal before the night's events. They peeled off from the group and made towards the advancing woman. She seemed small and insignificant in their eyes. The sight of her would be the last thing either of them saw as moments later one had a crossbow bolt planted squarely in his chest.

Willow's aim perfect even from a distance. Before his companion could react other than to drop his jaw in surprise, Willow had reloaded with another bolt and performed exactly the same action. The vampire's scream's faded into nothing at the same time as Willow moved from a brisk stride to a sprint. Following the destruction of two of their companions, several other demons had surged forward, fangs bared as they ran at Willow. She confused them with her speed, moving rapidly amongst them and yet appearing to be nowhere at one time. Her actions were so quick and fluid that none could lay a hand on her let alone stop her.

Although unloaded, the crossbow served as a handy club as Willow slammed its butt into the forehead of one. As he stumbled off balance, she cast the crossbow aside and swiftly drew a stake. With a deft movement, she plunged it into the vampire's chest. She did not wait to see his body splinter into a thousand pieces, she was already moving onto her next target. With each vampire she engaged, each movement and attack she made, she was already thinking ahead to her next movement, searching out her next target. After killing several with her stake, it splintered in the chest of one and was rendered useless. She drew her katana and proceeded to continue the slaughter, severing limbs and then heads with an almost wanton abandon.

As Willow carved a path through the hapless demons, Tara made her choice of sides known to her companions. With a slight flick of her wrist and a muttered word, two jets of fire shot from her hand to engulf a pair of vampires who were rushing to intercept Willow. They barely had time to scream before their already dead bodies were completely destroyed.

William and Angelus could not believe what they were seeing, however, after several moments to realise that Tara had just slain two of their own they acted. Both vampires advanced on the traitor, their fangs bared. Even as Tara drew back her hand to hurl another fireball at Angelus, William leapt forward and seized her by the wrist. He held her fast and met her gaze squarely.

"Try and fry me now!" he snarled, savagely twisting her wrist until she cried out in pain. "Angelus, I think our traitorous she-demon needs to be taught a little lesson."

William's fist closed around the cloak Tara wore and ripped it from her shoulders. He cast the heavy fabric to the ground and seized the front of her dress with both hands.

"Not here you fool, it is not the time!" Angelus moved to seize the arm of his companion but found his grip shaken off as William continued to tear through Tara's dress. "What are you playing at?"

He tore a strip of fabric from Tara's dress and used it to bind her mouth. "We don't want anymore of her foul spells here today!"

Tara glared at him as he savagely yanked the fabric as tight as he possibly could and tied both ends firmly. She tried to lash out with her hands but Angelus suddenly moved to aid his friend, twisting her arms behind her.

His lust for the female vampire overrode any rational thoughts, all he could think about was gaining revenge for the many times she had blatantly turned him down as he sought to win her favours. Now she was bound and gagged, helpless in their arms even as their companions died around them at the point of Willow's sword. Angelus ignored their screams and lent in close to Tara's ear, biting down so savagely on the appendage that he drew blood.

"You will regret your decision to deny me in Greece," he whispered as he heard fabric tear in William's hands, he saw one of her magnificent breasts bared in the fading light and his loins stirred hungrily.

Without further warning both vampires were suddenly thrust backwards, the folds of her clothing tore as it was ripped from their fingers. Tara stumbled backwards slightly, her eyes widening as she saw William and Angelus swept from their feet, William turned and held upside down and Angelus with his toes still pointing downwards but several feet above the ground. She turned and saw the warlock, Giles, his mouth moving slightly as he whispered the last words of his incantation.

Tara tore the gag from her mouth before slowly drawing the folds of her ripped gown back up over her shoulder. She held the garment closed with a white fist. Giles watched her from the corner of his eye as he kept the two vampires ensnared in the same invisible bonds he had used on Tara just a short while ago.

"I believe you saved my life," Tara admitted grudgingly, before this moment she would not have thought Giles would be one to lift a finger in her defence. "Or at least my honour."

The look he gave her in response to her words almost negated his actions; it appeared that the warlock still did not share Willow's opinion of her.

Meanwhile Willow had finally reached her goal, she burst through the cloud of dust that surrounded her and faced the one demon she longed to slay above all others. She met his ice-cold gaze with a fierce one of her own, her mouth set in a thin line of determination.

"It seems we meet at last, Willow Van Helsing," Dracula intoed solemnly, the rich tones of his voice carrying easily to Willow's ears.

Willow's features became even more stone-like, she hated the cloying, honeyed tones of his voice, it was almost as though he was trying to seduce her. She could easily see how it worked on other women; she cast a glance over her shoulder towards Tara and wondered for a moment if she had ever been taken in by Dracula's charms.

"I see your thoughts," he spoke and he head snapped back to face him, sword flying up to point at his head. "And I would think you know the answer…after all, what woman can resist the most gifted and attentive of lovers?"

A broad smile spread from his lips to crease his face, his white fangs were bared and Willow narrowed her eyes at the blatant implication in his words.

"You lie scum, you're not a lover…you're a monster…and I know that our meeting will be brief…brief enough for me to see you sent back to the dust from whence you came!" Willow growled.

She surged forward, the katana singing as it moved through the air towards his next. A split second before it was to strike, Dracula's body disappeared in the misty form she had seen Tara use twice. She knew that her lover could not perform the same feat immediately but as she moved towards Dracula's reforming body, she swung and missed yet again.

As Willow duelled their Master, William and Angelus snarled and struggle against the invisible bonds which held them, neither showing any fear as Tara summoned another fireball. She did not cast it, instead leaving it hovering above the palm of her hand as though it were a warning. When she glanced from the fireball, up to the trapped demons, there was a smile playing at the corner of her mouth.

"I want you both to remember these next moments," Tara advised them both in a cruel voice, "Remember them and you will realise exactly why it was foolish of you to ever threaten me…I will never give myself to either of you fools no matter how you desire me," Tara turned her back to them so she could watch Willow duelling with Dracula even as she said her next words. "I will never be yours, for I will always belong to her."

Tara's voice trailed off as she watched Willow make yet another swing towards Dracula, the sharp sword she carried missed yet again but she noticed that Willow did not lose her temper or make a mistake even though she surely must have been frustrated. Tara snuffed out the fireball by clamping her fingers shut and settled to watch the duel, her fingers remaining clamped together in her anxiety.

"Your weapon cannot touch me, let alone kill me, Willow Van Helsing," Dracula drawled as he reformed several feet away to Willow's left.

However true his words were of the fight up to that point, Willow was not phased in the slightest by his taunt. Her keen perceptions had noticed that the amount of time between his misty transformations was slowly lengthening, each time she was able to get a little closer and he had even begun to resort to moving with his feet to maintain the distance. Each time he reformed she noticed his features start to sag a little more, now she could clearly see the dark bags beneath his eyes, the folds of flesh hanging from his chin as though his flesh was sliding from his bones.

"You're tiring," Willow pointed out, a tired smile slowly curling the corners of her lips. "You're tiring and soon you will falter, my sword will find its mark."

"I think not!" Dracula growled.

He swept back his own cloak, throwing it from his shoulders so it no longer hampered his movements. His hand went to the jewel-encrusted sword at his side and he drew the thick blade.

Although she circled him warily, keeping one eye on Dracula's sword, Willow's other eye was firmly fixed on the leather pouch he wore at his waist. She knew for certain it held the skull. Forcing herself to draw her eyes from it, she continued to circle for a few more moments before making the first strike. Instead of merely lunging forward or making a swing which could have been met easily by the weight of his own sword, Willow made two quick, powerful steps and launched herself into the air. He lashed out at her with his blade but she kicked it aside with one foot even as her sword came crashing down. The katana sliced through the silken shirt he wore and into his flesh.

Dracula arched his back but did not cry out in pain as Willow's feet hit the ground just to his side. Instead he laughed as he straightened and swung his sword in an arc in the air in front of him.

"You think to carve me apart piece by piece?" he cackled as he turned to face Willow.

"Perhaps…for that would serve my purposes adequately!" Willow replied, punctuating her words with a flourish of the katana in her hands.

She surged forward once more, her body moving in a blur as she weaved between his desperate blows, for all his immortality and power, he possessed not half of the skill Willow had with a blade. As Tara and Giles, William and Angelus watched, Willow fought the Lord of all Vampires himself. She felt as though everything in the past four years had all been a precursor to this moment in time, to this infamous battlefield and her one on one duel with Dracula himself. Even as she fought, Willow felt the weight of this occasion bear down on her shoulders. Everything hinged on these moments to come and her success in this duel.

As her katana danced through the air yet again to meet his blade with a resounding twang, she felt a surge of power. As their blades were stuck together for a brief moment, she met his gaze and searched it, while she could reach little into his impassive expression, she could feel his weakness through his blade. He trembled. For a moment, she was close enough to reach down and seize the pouch at his waist but she could not dare take a hand off the hilt of the katana to do so. Moments later Dracula threw himself backwards and the skull was out of reach once more.

She watched his faced and saw her own determination reflected in his cruel features. When he pressed forward his attack once more, his blows were savage and powerful. Willow continue to dance around his swings, knowing all too well if she happened to make a single mistake, the thick steel would slice deeply into her flesh and everything was over. Her lightning fast strokes managed to slip past his guard several times, slicing into cloth and dead flesh but she could not make the one swing that mattered, the one which would slice straight through his neck.

When she lost her katana it was through a mistake of her own. She lost track of her footing as exhaustion began to set in and sweat drenched her vision. Her heel caught the ribcage of some long dead fool and she stumbled, her grip slackening. Although her blade met Dracula's incoming swing, the hilt of her katana was struck from her grasp. It went sailing through the air and landed several metres away. She know at that instant that she had to move fast or find his next swing crashing through her chest. Before he could suppress his elation and press forward the killing blow, Willow darted beneath Dracula's swing and drew a slender knife from her boot. She swung and sliced the leather cords that held the pouch to his belt, they were sliced cleanly and it opened. From the pouch came tumbling a perfectly white skull, its full mouth of teeth grinning in the twilight. It hit the ground and rolled to a stop between Willow and Dracula. As he surged forward to reclaim it, Willow spun on one heel, bringing her leg whirling around. With the weight of her momentum behind it, her foot caught Dracula squarely in his chest and he was hurled to his knees. Several metres away, his minions struggled against the bonds that Giles held them in but they could barely move their limbs let alone escape. Dracula could only kneel, his body battered from his duel with Willow. Willow circled him and came to a stop where the skull lay; she hooked the toe of one boot beneath it and deftly gave it a little flick. It sailed upwards and straight into her hand.

The katana with which she wanted to destroy him lay out of reach but Tara saw it and crossed the short distance to pick it up. A brief thought flashed across Willow's mind, Tara holding the katana given to her by someone who had almost been her lover. Ayako's image disappeared quickly; there would be time to dwell after all of this miserable business was over. There would be time to pay her respects to the brave Japanese woman and to make her peace with her beloved brother who should be standing at her side. Still, she had Tara with her, and her presence was more than enough.

"Tara, you can redeem yourself now!" Dracula pleaded in desperation as he watched Tara pick up Willow's sword. "Strike that whore down with her own weapon and I will welcome you as my equal in all things!"

At the same time she retrieved Willow's katana, Tara also stooped to reclaim her fallen crossbow, discarded earlier after the last loaded bolt had been spent in the middle of the fray. Almost as soon as she had straightened, she drew her arm back cast it in one graceful motion; it went sailing straight into Willow's waiting hand. Willow caught the weapon with nimble fingers at the same time as she reached inside her jacket and withdrew a single silver bolt. Swiftly she slotted the bolt home and with a practiced motion she cocked the bow. In mere seconds she had the loaded weapon levelled at a rather indignant Dracula.

"Tara, I trusted you and brought you into my inner circle and offered you power, is this how you repay me?" he demanded, his voice shrill. "By betraying me?"

"I am a demon, I cannot be trusted," was all Tara said in reply.

It was all Willow could do to keep from shouting aloud with pure joy at the look on the demon's face, partially terror and partially anger.

"I think it is safe to say she is no longer with you," Willow could not resist saying it. "It appears that love is stronger than death."

"And it appears that you have defeated me, Willow Van Helsing," Dracula admitted in a dull voice.

"Not quite," Willow replied, keeping her crossbow arm steady. "I will reserve my celebrations until I can dust what's left of you from my sleeve with one swipe of the hand."

She could not allow herself to let the whiff of victory overwhelm her…not just yet anyway. The whole situation was more than a little surreal. Standing on the pitted plateau at Covasna with a handful of surviving vampires, the Master of all vampires at her feet, her dead lover and her mentor, all surrounded by the swirls of dust from the destroyed vampires, Willow could be forgiven for thinking that everything was a dream. It was when she saw a small smile of victory cross Tara's face, that she did allow herself to feel a small surge of elation. It was soon to be all over.

Willow kept her gaze on the kneeling figure of Dracula but she watched from the corner of her eye as Tara moved around him, the katana still in her hands. Her expression as she stared at her soon to be former Master was one of contempt. She walked slightly behind Willow and disappeared from the corner of her eye but Willow heard her stop just behind her. She felt reassured with the knowledge that Tara was right there with her as she pulled the trigger.

Willow applied pressure to the trigger of her crossbow with the sole aim of seeing it plunge straight into Dracula's heart. The silver bolt would have flown straight and true before something slammed into Willow's back, tearing her apart. Searing pain followed, starting in her chest and shooting throughout her entire body. Her finger jerked awkwardly on the trigger, the bolt discharged with a twang and buried itself harmlessly in Dracula's shoulder. He merely jerked it out with a single sharp pull. Willow stared in disbelief, wondering how she could have missed from such a close distance. Her arms felt heavy and the crossbow slipped from her numb fingers. She tilted her chin downwards to see a familiar steel blade protruding from her chest, a dark stain spreading out over her white shirt. Willow coughed, more blood splattered over her front. After a few more moments standing, the blade impaled in her chest was drawn free with a savage tug and Willow fell forwards almost immediately, dropping to her knees in the soft earth, staring at the now empty wound in her chest.

_How could I have been so blind? Abraham, I am so sorry._

As darkness crept around the edges of her vision, Willow lost control of her body. She fell forward, the skull slipped from her hand and her body twisted slightly so she fell on her side. When her body twitched and she slumped onto her back, the last thing she saw before she died was Tara standing over her with the katana in her hand. Its length was stained red with her own blood.

* * *

Willow awoke.

With her heart beating at a million miles a minute, she clutched desperately at her chest only to find that there was no gaping tear in her flesh and no blood. She drew open the garment she was wearing but found only a light dressing covering a wound which felt as though it was almost healed. With her panic only barely subsiding, she found herself staring into the familiar mirror in front of her. Willow snapped her head around and found she was indeed in her bedroom at Gordon Square. The room was unchanged from the day they had departed. However, when Willow returned her gaze to the mirror in front of her she found that the one thing in the reflection that had changed was herself. The strange garments she wore did not disturb her as much as her physical appearance. Her hair was no longer stained the awful black from Giles's dye, but was as vibrantly red as it was supposed to be. It was even a little longer than normal, falling down past her shoulders. With trembling fingers she reached up and raked her hands through the red strands, confirming them to be real.

When she stood she felt exceptionally weak. Her muscles did not allow her to make the fluid movements she was accustomed to. Again she opened the folds of the shirt she wore and pressed a shaking hand to the dressing covering her upper chest. While she was certain she remembered the blade piercing the middle of her chest at Covasna, Willow allowed herself to think that she had been mistaken. A small grin crossed her face when she deduced that somehow she had survived. Given that she was safely at home in London, Giles must have retrieved the skull and stopped the resurrection. Before it could even cross her mind, she immediately repressed the memory of Tara standing over her with the bloody katana. That was something she could deal with at another time.

Almost elated at the turn of events, Willow left her room and went in search of someone - especially Abraham. More than anything she needed to find her brother and take back the awful words that had passed between them.

"Abraham?" Her voice echoed down the empty hallway but Willow was not worried. Gordon Square was large and there were only five occupants. She turned towards the stairs that led to the third floor and the servant's rooms. "Sam? Nancy?"

There was no response. Willow moved down the hallway to the main staircase, only just beginning to get a sense that something was not quite right. There was only one strange coat hanging on the rack by the door whereas usually there was a wide assortment all hung neatly by Sam. Willow sniffed the air for the usual pleasant aromas wafting from the kitchen but smelt nothing. She moved past the empty parlour and library through into the large, airy room. Willow frowned, there was no sign of Cook. The large kitchen table which was usually covered with her pots and crocks and all manner of utensils was pristine. In fact the entire kitchen was pristine and devoid of absolutely anyone or even any food. The pantry was completely bare, everything from the flour bins to the breadbox looked as though they had been empty for years. Willow's heart began to thump once more; almost approaching the levels of panic with which she had woken just a short while ago.

Even as she was about to have a fit of some kind, she was struck by a sudden thought - she was sure to find Giles, Abraham and even Christopher Croft at Montagu House

"Of course silly," Willow said the words aloud as a form of reassurance as she raced back towards front door, only pausing to grab the one coat that was hanging on the rack. "They'll be at the library, Giles and Abraham, they'll be there!"


	23. A Stranger Amid Friends

**Chapter Twenty-Three  
A Stranger Amid Friends**

Montagu House was gone…and it wasn't just missing. It had been replaced by a truly monstrous Grecian edifice with towering columns and a broad entrance. Willow stood in the middle of the footpath, completely oblivious to the agitated muttering of pedestrians walking by either side who were annoyed that someone would dare disrupt the flow of traffic. Her mouth worked soundlessly as she read over the words etched deeply into the stone facade far above her head - _British Museum_.

"Good lord," she whispered. "I know Giles had some delusions of grandeur but this is ridiculous."

Willow failed to notice that the pedestrians who had so grudgingly parted on either side of her were now giving her a very wide berth. However, she was so confused that talking to herself in the middle of the street was the least of her problems. When Willow turned around she realised that there were a myriad of little…and some very large details that she had missed during her panicked dash from Gordon Square to Great Russell Street. For a start, Montagu House was not the only building missing…and nor was the British Museum the only building that had been erected overnight. Almost the entire frontage of the street across from her had been changed. Willow could also not remember seeing quite so much traffic on the street…in fact, she was sure that she had never before laid eyes on the huge horse drawn carriages lumbering along the street, each carrying at least a dozen passengers. There were also many smaller carriages of the type Willow was used to…but she had to blink her eyes several times at the sight of a carriage being propelled without a horse. Willow took a few steps backwards as the noisy machine moved past her, belching out large quantities of smoke as it did so. Several pedestrians walked straight into her, jostling her about the footpath,

"Watch where you're going!" one man grumbled, casting a rather dirty look over his shoulder.

"I say, move along!" another growled as he almost knocked Willow to the ground.

Scared and confused, Willow pushed her way through the flow of people, moving towards the British Museum as though somehow this new building might hold the answers she so desperately needed. Thankfully there were far fewer people moving up the stairs and into the building and she was able to breathe somewhat easier…although her heart was still thudding along at a rate that threatened to cause her to pass out if she didn't calm herself down soon.

Willow ducked quickly through the massive doors and into the relatively peaceful interior. Once inside she barely paused to look above her at the massive ceiling before making a beeline straight for a secluded niche by the wall. She pressed her face against the cool stone and closed her eyes, knowing that it would be too much to hope for everything to be back to normal when she opened them once again. Still, Willow imagined the blissfully quiet interior of Montagu house, the rows upon rows of books, the reading tables and most of all Giles busy with his duties, perhaps pushing a trolley laden with books or exclaiming over damage done to some rare volume. Christopher Croft would be swinging back on the hind legs of a chair with his feet up on the desk, no doubt earning himself a few terse words from Giles. She'd move through the doors that led to Giles's office and other private rooms and Abraham would be sitting there, his knife hard at work as he sharpened a stake to replace one he had broken the previous night. He would set the wood down and she'd fold herself into his embrace. The words that had passed between them would be an unpleasant memory and the cause of those words would be almost forgotten…

Except she couldn't forget…even now, with her eyes squeezed tightly shut and her entire body pressed back into a corner, she felt her skin crawl with the sensation that she was being watched. Her heart, which had begun to slow slightly, raced on with renewed intensity at the thought of those piercing blue eyes piercing straight through her body. Willow's hand awkwardly scrubbed at the fabric covering the middle of her chest, needing to confirm that the skin there was still whole. Even as her fingers found no wound she remembered the awful sight of looking down and seeing the point of a sword protruding from her own bloody chest. Her body sagged involuntarily when she remembered it being withdrawn and she almost collapsed to the floor. However, by far the most nightmarish sight was that of the woman she loved standing over her with the bloody sword in her hand.

"_I am a demon, I cannot be trusted."_

It was all too late but Willow now realised that those words had never been intended for Dracula. Tara had spoken to her. Willow drew the coat tightly over her small frame, her fists clenched as they clutched at the fabric.

For Willow Van Helsing, fearless demon hunter, reality had become something to be feared. All she wanted to do was fall to the floor and let herself be overtaken by the sobs that were already threatening to bubble forth from her mouth. Although she knew she ought to just square her shoulders and get on with the business of finding out what the hell had happened, she did not want to open her eyes and face the changes that had taken place around her.

Almost five minutes had passed before Willow realised that she could not stand in the corner of the lobby all day. She decided that she would venture back out onto those busy streets once more and make her way back to Gordon Square, the one place where the fewest changes seemed to have taken place.

She slowly prised her eyes open and looked ahead, only to find that there was someone staring at her. It was a dark-haired woman, tall and elegantly attired with a cane resting in one hand. Willow froze even though there was nothing in her gaze to suggest that she meant harm.

* * *

Lara Croft was somewhat annoyed when she heard an abrupt and insistent knock on the door to her office. She was quite sure she had told Cordelia that she was not to be disturbed all morning. The knock repeated, this time even more insistently and with an irritated huff she threw down the report she had been reading.

"Come in!" she growled. Her tone indicating that whatever the reason for the disturbance, it had better be good.

A rather sheepish looking Cordelia poked her head around the door, apologetic tones written all over her face before she even opened her mouth.

"I am most sorry, Director Croft, but it's one of the front of house staff. He says you simply must come down to the entrance right away."

"Is there some sort of problem?" Lara asked. Her tone was dangerously close to exploding; indicating that she already felt the matter was not worth disturbing her over.

"Well yes…in a manner of speaking" Cordelia began hesitantly. "It is Rosenberg, ma'am. She's in the entrance acting…well, acting rather peculiarly from what I've been told."

It was obvious Cordelia had no specific details to offer so Lara slid back her chair and rose. Her leg was aching particularly badly today and she was forced to use the cane she hated to steady her steps. She saw Cordelia relax slightly when she realised that there was going to be no explosion of temper.

"Cordelia, would you run downstairs and fetch Faith to the lobby?"

"Certainly…unless you need some assistance first?" Cordelia asked gently, well aware that Lara went out of her way not to make an issue of her disability.

"No, I'll be fine," Lara replied with a slight shake of her head.

As she made her way to the entrance, Lara realised that the mere mention of Rosenberg had been enough to banish her foul mood almost completely. She had to admit that she had missed the scatty redhead's presence around the museum for the past few months. However, as pleased as she was to think that Willow might be returning to work, Lara could not help but feel a measure of concern. While Willow was generally known for displaying odd behaviour at times, she seldom did so in public. Indeed, it was all she could do to keep the surprise from showing on her face when she descended the main stairs down into the entranceway and saw a uniformed employee nod towards a strangely clad figure huddled in a corner. It was Rosenberg, eyes shut, hugging the side of the wall as though she hoped to sink straight through it. While her behaviour was odd enough, Lara was further surprised to see a pair of striped pyjamas protruding from the bottom of her overcoat.

While Lara stood at the foot of the stairs, still staring, Willow's eyes opened and their gazes met directly. Even as Lara managed a small smile to try and put the woman at ease, she was disturbed by her expression. Her face was blank, missing the slightest hint of greeting, or even recognition. It was as though Willow had absolutely no idea who she was staring at. She crossed the floor slowly, out of both necessity and concern that Willow would bolt if she approached too quickly.

"Willow…" Lara spoke gently. "Why on earth are you standing here in your pyjamas?"

Willow glanced down at her attire quickly as though she did not understand what Lara was referring to and she did not reply immediately when she lifted her head. Instead she stared intently at Lara as though she were studying her face for a hint of recognition. Finally she gave up and asked in a determined voice. "Who are you?"

Lara almost stumbled backwards as though she had been struck. Willow's expression was so earnest, without the slightest hint of deception. She seriously did not know her own employer. Lara then realised that Willow's expression was not just blank…the girl was terrified.

"Willow…I am Lara Croft, you work for me," Lara explained quietly. "Don't you know me?"

Willow's reply was a confused shake of her head. Lara was searching for something else to say when she saw the young woman's eyes dart sideways and stare at something or someone over her shoulder.

"Giles!" her sudden exclamation reverberated throughout the entrance and caused more than one patron to turn their heads in astonishment at the shout.

Willow dashed across the lobby in her pyjamas and threw herself into the arms of the tall man standing by the stairs. Lara frowned, she was sure Giles had mentioned visiting Willow at home just yesterday. However, from the way she clung to him, it was as though she had not seen him for years.

Giles returned Willow's hug but cast a searching glance over her head in Lara's direction. Lara merely shrugged with a confused expression on her face.

"Giles, what is happening to me?" Willow whispered into her mentor's chest, clutching at the fabric of his waistcoat as though she were drowning. "We were at Covasna…something happened to me there and then I was lying on my bedroom floor…and I came here looking for Montagu House but it's gone, replaced by this monstrous building. Then that strange woman over there seems to know me and, Giles, I swear I haven't seen her before in my life." Willow glanced over her shoulder to see the dark-haired woman still staring at her as though she had grown a tail. "Will you tell her to stop looking at me please? It's distinctly unnerving."

Giles immediately realised that the strange woman Willow was referring to was Lara. However, that didn't unnerve him half as much as her mention of Covasna and Montagu House. Although Willow had indeed just been at Covasna…Montagu House had been demolished over fifty earlier to make way for the very building they were standing in. However, as he stood holding the trembling girl against his chest an awful thought struck him. Another Willow, part of a different time, had known Montagu House very well. He gently disentangled Willow's arms from his body and held her at arm's length. He knew the question he had to ask would sound ridiculous to his own ears.

"Willow, who do you think you are?"

Willow's expression indicated that she also thought it completely ridiculous. "Giles…what an odd sort of question…well, I'm Willow of course!"

Giles smiled kindly. "Yes, I know you're Willow…but I need a little more information, when were you born, who are your parents?"

Willow's frown deepened but she replied anyway. "I don't know what kind of practical joke this is…or spell more like considering you can't have possibly demolished entire buildings on your own. You know I am Willow Van Helsing, born on the 6th of October, 1760. My parents were Pieter and Marianne Van Helsing, but they're long dead of course…and I have an older brother, Abraham…speaking of which, Giles, where is Abraham? I simply must speak with him at once."

Giles appeared crestfallen, however, he did not have a chance to reply to Willow's question before Faith emerged from a side door, Cordelia at her heels. The vampire hunter's face broke into a broad grin at the sight of her friend up and about and apparently back at work. Lara was already moving forward to intercept Faith but she was too slow and Faith crossed the floor at a run,

"Will, you should've told me you were coming in today!" she cried, arms outstretched as she moved in to embrace Willow.

Willow had turned at the sound of fast-paced footsteps approaching her. Before the strange woman could throw her arms around her, one fist snapped out quickly and caught her squarely on the jaw.

Faith was thrown backwards to land heavily on her arse in the middle of the floor, she went sliding several more feet when she hit. The expression on her face when she stood however was more one of shock than pain.

"Bloody hell, Willow!" Faith gasped as she rubbed her jaw. "That hurt…and where the hell did you learn to hit like that?"

By now patrons were actually starting to leave the museum when the witnessed the strange scene taking place in the lobby. If the sight of the small woman wearing pyjamas had not been enough to worry them, she was now starting to hit people.

Willow felt as though she had been backed into a corner, she stood with her fists still clenched but looked from the woman sitting on the floor back to the one familiar face in all of this madness. She turned again. By now the fallen woman had regained her feet and was looking more than a little angry. Willow lifted her fists, ready to defend herself if attacked again.

"Willow…she means no harm, just relax a little and let us help you." Giles spoke urgently, wanting to reach out and touch her but hesitating in case she hit him too.

"Please Giles, I just need to see my brother," Willow pleaded with a gulp as she tried to stop tears from flowing. "I have yet to apologise for that ghastly fight we had over Tara…and then what I did, sleeping with her."

Giles, Faith and Lara immediately took on expressions of varying degrees of shock but it was Faith who managed to fight past this to actually say something…even if that something was rather inappropriate.

"Willow, you had sex and you didn't tell me?"

Willow responded with a confused stare even as Giles reached out and took her by the shoulders, he gave Faith a stern expression that could be read in just one way _- keep your mouth shut._

Faith ignored him of course, a small measure of fear creeping into her voice. "Giles, what the bloody hell has happened to Willow?"

"Faith, just shut up and help me get Willow downstairs, we need to get away from the public areas as soon as possible," Giles knew that it was almost impossible to spare Willow any further stress until he could calm her down. The middle of the entranceway was not exactly the best place to do this.

However, it was all too apparent that Willow did not want to be moved; she wanted answers to her questions and nothing else. With Giles holding one arm, and Faith the other, Cordelia held the doors open for them as they removed her from public eyes. Willow did not go quietly; she lashed out with her legs and struggled with her whole body as she tried to wrench herself free.

"Bloody hell Giles, unhand me I say!" Willow yelled, trying to move so she could kick the woman to her right. "Let me go. Where the hell is my brother? Abraham! Abraham!"

Faith winced at the sound of Willow shouting at the top of her lungs so close to her ear. "Couldn't we possibly find some laudanum or something?"

Giles glared at her over the top of Willow's head and she immediately sealed her lips shut, trying to block out Willow's screams as they carried her down the stairs to the lower levels of the museum. They managed to make it into Faith's office without attracting too much attention and shut the door behind them. As soon as Willow was out of their grasp, she made an urgent bolt for the door. Faith was on hand to tackle her and wrestle her back to the couch, surprised to find that Willow was as least twice as strong as she used to be, even despite the wound in her shoulder.

Willow backed up into a corner and her eyes seized upon a display sword balanced on the desk in front of her. Without warning, she darted forward and her fingers closed over the hilt of the weapon. The sword protested slightly, as though it had not been drawn for some time but it was soon balanced in Willow's hand, point extended towards the three others in the room. All of them stared at her as though she had indeed grown a tail.

Faith hardly felt threatened. "Willow please stop pretending you know one end of the sword from the other.

Giles immediately snapped out an arm and barred Faith's path just as she was about to move towards Willow and disarm her. Although Faith clearly thought that Willow with a sword in her hand was clearly nothing to be worried about, Giles knew otherwise.

"Faith…Lara, I wonder if you might give me a few moments alone with Willow?" Giles asked gently, not taking his eyes off the frightened girl backed into one corner of the room.

After a few words to let him know just how displeased she was. Faith left closely followed by Lara. Neither woman had acknowledged each other's presence despite their close proximity but Giles could not afford to worry about that now. If his guess was correct, something had happened to transport the entire consciousness of Willow Van Helsing into her reincarnated body to the point where Willow Rosenberg had ceased to exist. Giles calmly took a seat on a small stool by the door, even as Willow kept the sword pointed in his direction. With the two strangers leaving however, he noticed the fire in her eyes had dampened considerably.

While he had known Willow Van Helsing exceptionally well, so many years had passed since her death. It was shy, bookish Willow Rosenberg who was foremost in his mind. It unnerved him slightly to see the woman he had known since she was a child standing in front of him with the sword as though it were an extension of her arm.

"Giles, can you please just tell me what is happening. Who were those horrid people, acting as if they knew me?" Willow asked, the point of the sword almost facing downwards now.

"Willow, I will explain everything as soon as you put that weapon back in its scabbard. I know exactly what you can do with it and it's making me uncomfortable."

"Oh," Willow glanced down at the sword as if she had quite forgotten she were holding it, she slid it back into its scabbard with a slightly sheepish expression on her face.

She gently replaced the weapon back on its small plinth and took a seat on the corner of the desk, clasping her hands together to keep them from shaking. It was hardly necessary for Giles to tell her that something momentous had happened to her, if it wasn't evident from the world around her than it was very clearly written on his face. Something was very wrong.

"There's a newspaper just behind you, have a look at the date," Giles nodded towards the copy of the times which was lying on Faith's desk.

Willow picked it up and scanned the masthead; The Times was not a paper she was familiar with. She glanced at the date and had to read it more than once to ensure she was reading it correctly,

"15th May 1898," Willow whispered. The date more than a hundred years off what it should read.

Willow thoroughly expected to have spent a few days or even weeks unconscious following her injury but this was ridiculous. When she glanced up at Giles he nodded slowly.

"The paper is not wrong Willow, it is indeed 1898…and I believe that the last year you remember is 1784, is that correct?"

"Yes," Willow squeezed out the barest of whispers.

She closed her eyes but only saw the numbers, 1898 over and over in her mind. Her earlier suspicions had indeed been correct, something had happened…Willow let out a choked laugh, she could hardly think of a larger understatement. She was still laughing when the name came to her, a name that was on the tip of her tongue but for some reason she could not quite remember.

There were images associated with the name, images she could not quite understand but they came to her nevertheless. She saw the dark haired woman, her mouth flashing in an irrepressible grin. Willow remembered her name as Giles had spoken it earlier, Faith…although Willow had hit her earlier for some reason she felt they were friends. She was tied in some way to the second dark-haired woman, the one who claimed to be Willow's employer. Willow's mind lingered over her rich lips and full breasts and in seconds she felt her cheeks heat up almost instantly. There was also a sandy haired young man, clumsy but endearing and stout hearted. Willow could not put a name to the grinning face in her mind.

Willow opened her eyes and stared at Giles. His face bore a few more lines than she remembered but other than his strange attire, he seemed not to have changed. Instead of books, she saw him standing behind a bench with an array of tools in front of him…constructing things...machines, weapons. Willow frowned, wondering how on earth she could remember Giles doing any such thing when he had only ever been a librarian. Tying everything together was a young woman hunched behind a massive desk covered in paper and thick books, her pen scratching away on the parchment in front of her.

Willow did not just know that woman, she was that woman. The name-

"Rosenberg," she whispered, the name seeming to naturally roll off her tongue.

She immediately saw Giles lift his head. "What did you say?"

Willow did not answer his question. Instead she had one of her own for him. "Giles, who is Willow Rosenberg?"

"I should think that you would be able to answer that question."

Willow frowned, not at Giles's cryptic answer but rather at the fact that she knew the answer.

"A researcher…I remember writing papers, reading books…but I hate writing…and reading for that matter." Willow struggled to get the simple facts about that life out in words, she felt as though it should have been so straightforward but everything sounded odd to her ears as though the description had never quite fit, she looked up at Giles with a need for reassurance written plainly on her face. "Giles, tell me, tell me I'm Willow…tell me you know who I am?"

"Willow, please look at me. I know you're struggling to take all of this in but hear me out a little longer; you need to understand everything all at once for your own sanity

"My own sanity?" Willow laughed wildly for just a moment. "Giles, I'm remembering this whole other life I that lived…or rather am living…and you want me to stay sane? I think it's a little too late for that."

"Willow, the life you're beginning to remember, it is your life," Giles began slowly. "The events that you think happened yesterday, Covasna, Abraham, Tara Maclay, Edward Walsh…and myself, they are events that have been and gone. They all took place over one hundred years ago."

"Reincarnation," Willow whispered. "Myself, and this…Willow Rosenberg, we are the same person?

Any average person may have found this concept more than a little difficult to grasp, Willow had been fed a steady diet of such things for a long time. While it still came as a shock, she was still able to get her head around the basic fundamentals that it involved. Everything that she thought was her past, all her recent memories, they were nothing but remnants of a life that had already been lived and was now intruding on another in the present.

"Yes," Giles replied simply.

"And Abraham…my brother is dead," Willow forced the words out, knowing that they could only be true.

Giles could only nod is response to the crestfallen expression on Willow's face. He saw the colour rise in her cheeks as though she were about to explode and knew exactly what was coming. She was going to explode…in a manner of speaking. He saw the emotions play across her face before she even gave voice to them and he could clearly see the one she struggled with most, denial.

Willow slipped from the corner of the desk and stood on shaking legs, the entire room was spinning and her vision blurred. She glanced towards Giles but his was no longer the friendly face of her mentor, it was stretched and distorted. No longer friendly at all, he looked like a monster. She pressed her legs back against the desk behind her, needing something solid in contact with her body. Although she clutched at the desk like it was keeping her from drowning, she still felt as though she was going under. She realised she needed to get out of the room, out of the building and back to the one place that was as familiar as it were possible for anything to be in this nightmare.

Giles made no move to stop her as she dashed past him and out of the door. She had a vague memory of the passages they had taken to bring her into the building and she ran back down these now. Through doors and up stairs until she was back in the foyer she remembered. It wasn't until she was once again fighting her way through the pedestrians on the street that she realised she was being followed. Willow glanced over her shoulder to see the dark-haired woman keeping a respectable distance.

"Will…where are you going?" she called over the crowd.

Willow fought until she reached a clearer section of the street and continued onwards at a faster pace. Behind her, Faith also walked faster, maintaining the same following distance.

"I am going home!" Willow announced resolutely over her shoulder, already seeing the entrance to Gordon Square just up ahead.

Faith broke into a jog and came up alongside Willow. When she reached out to take her by the elbow, the redhead yanked her arm away with a small, angry grunt.

"Will, your flat is quite a ways…you might want to take the tram," Faith suggested, nodding towards one of the large carriages speeding along the street.

Willow frowned as though she had no idea what Faith was referring to; instead she turned and began walking down Gordon Square, already feeling a great deal more relaxed than she had been while inside the museum. She reached the front steps to her home and sighed as she stopped to stare up at its façade.

"Will, you can't just go into someone's house…" Faith began, frowning up at the heavy black door at the top of the steps.

"It is my house," Willow replied in a matter of fact manner, walking straight up the front steps with renewed purpose.

The door was unlocked as she had left it earlier. As soon as she walked through the front door of Gordon Square she felt a huge weight lift from her shoulders. For the time being everything else was forgotten. She was home.

* * *

Willow woke drenched in sweat. She sat bolt upright in a tangle of bed sheets and blankets and fought in a panic to get the constraining fabric away from her body. With her limbs finally free, she found herself sitting in the middle of a bed. Everything was bathed in a silver sheen and she realised it was moonlight pouring through a large window, the curtains open. It did not take her long to realise that this was not her little flat. Not only was the bed three time larger than she was used to, the entire room was larger than her flat. Willow glanced from the canopy of the four-posted bed above her to the thick drapes hanging on either side of the window and the other furnishings. All were solid, expensive looking and decidedly unfamiliar.

"Where in the frilly heck am I?" Willow whispered aloud.

Willow glanced down to see she still wore her own pyjamas. Carefully she crawled down from the bed and her bare feet hit the rug on the floor. She stood cautiously, half expecting someone or something to rush out at her from the shadows in the room. Gradually Willow recognised the room and when she turned to see the large, silver framed mirror with her own reflection staring back at her she knew exactly where she was. She did not dare take another step closer to the thing, remembering what had happened last time she had ventured closer. Instead she stared at herself, relieved to see she was just her usual self, wearing her pyjamas and with decidedly scruffy hair. She dragged her fingers through the tangled strands a few times and ventured out of the room.

The house was just as empty as it had been when she entered earlier. However, while she had been eerily familiar with the house, she now felt as though she knew it inside out. Instead of making her way down the hallway towards the stairs, she turned in the opposite direction and walked determinedly towards a closed door. Without hesitation, she pushed it open and a name instantly came into her mind.

"Abraham," Willow felt the name roll off her tongue so easily, as though she had said it many times. _Willow Van Helsing's brother…no…my brother._

Although she had never before set foot in that room, she immediately thought that Abraham's room had changed since the last time she saw it. Even as she was trying to think how this was even possible, her mind came up with a reason, he had lived in this house long after she had died; of course he had changed things. Willow crossed the floor to the four-posted bed, identical to her own save for the rich red hangings and covers on the bed. She crawled up onto the bed and curled into a tight ball and cried for the brother she had lost, lamenting the fact that she never had a chance to apologise or even say goodbye.

Willow was not quite sure how long she lay there sobbing, but eventually she dragged herself from the bed and scrubbed her stinging eyes with her fists. She sat for a moment before realising exactly where it was she wanted to be, a room where she felt even closer to her brother. Almost running, she made her way back down the hallway and down the stairs. She passed the parlour, not even noticing Faith sleeping on one of the black couches and into the library. Before she crossed to the book shelf she glanced up at the shelves stretching around all four walls and up to the ceiling. She realised with an ironic laugh that this was the first time she had stood in the library and actually wanted to read the material held on its shelves.

She did not need to search for the book she was after; she found it by instinct and tipped it forward, standing back as the hidden door swung inwards. Although the torches were not burning in the brackets, she found her way down the circular stairs easily in the darkness. The training room below was dimly lit with the thin shafts of moonlight finding the narrow windows that ran around the top of the room. Willow walked out towards the middle of the room, feeling the familiar pads beneath her feet. A smile crossed her face; she remembered hitting those pads many times, from a variety of angles. She did not need to close her eyes to imagine seeing Abraham striding across the pads towards her, a grin on his sweaty face.

Unlike Abraham's room, this room was exactly as she remembered it - save the fact that someone had actually tidied and there were no weapons or books lying about. Willow sensed someone watching her but she already knew who it was and was unconcerned, the presence was as familiar as that of her own brother, although she did not belong in this house.

Moments later the room was bathed in a golden electrical glow as the lights were turned on.

"Please accept my apologies for striking you earlier," Willow turned and met the dark-eyed gaze of the woman standing by the stairs.

Faith turned from facing the light switch she had just flicked and accepted the apology with a small nod. "As long as you will forgive me for my insensitive remarks. It's not every day that you lose your best friend…even though she's standing right in front of you."

"I'm still here, Faith," Willow whispered, pressing her hands to her temples as though she had a headache.

"Are you really?" Faith asked gently, almost hopefully.

"I'm just a little…" Willow struggled to find the right words to describe her current state of mind. "My mind's a little busy right now. Until everything straightens out I'm not sure who I am." Willow choked out a laugh as she replayed her own words in her mind. "God, I sound crazy."

"Just a little." Faith agreed rather readily.

Willow sighed and relaxed noticeably, due in part to her friend's ability to put her at ease no matter the situation. She found her feet moving forward and before she knew quite what had happened she was in Faith's warm embrace, the other woman's arms enfolding about her in a protective manner and holding her close.

"You know you don't normally hug me right?" Faith commented quietly, giving Willow one last squeeze before she stepped back.

"I know…and besides, weren't you getting all the hugs you needed from Lara?" Willow remembered the heated words that had passed between them at their last meeting and she was glad they could put it behind them, although she regretted mentioning Lara's name in such a context.

Faith did not seem to take offence. She merely shrugged as though she too was glad to put it behind her and did not offer any further information.

With her back pressed to the wall, Willow slid down to sit on the bottom step, tucking her knees up close to her chest. She glanced down at her pyjama clad legs and realised she really needed to get out of them eventually.

"A part of me is overjoyed to be here, with you and Myles…Lara…although especially you," Willow realised she needed to talk everything through for it to make any sense. "And yet another part of me misses Abraham so much it hurts. I don't want to live the rest of my life without him."

"Will…" Faith began in worried tone of voice, her brow furrowed with concern at the suggestion implicit in Willow's words.

Willow saw the look cross her friend's face and quickly shook her head to refute any suicidal connotations. "It's alright Faith, I'm not planning on going anywhere."

Faith breathed a noticeable sigh of relief. She was having a difficult enough time trying to come to terms with the changes her friend had undergone in such a short space of time, having to deal with the fact that she might be looking for an easier way out of her problems was something she did not want to have to do.

Willow continued, "But what makes it even worse is the fact that Abraham and I quarrelled before Covasna."

"You mentioned earlier," Faith nodded and gave the reason in one small word. "Tara."

_Tara._ Willow rolled the name over on her tongue but did not speak it. A small part of her wanted to tell Faith everything - the impact Tara's death had had on her and the way in which she had been completely duped into loving the demon who had so cruelly invaded her body. However, a larger part was far more interested in remembering the time she had shared with Tara while she was still alive, the time they had spent at Hagley Park. Willow thought it more than odd that a part of her was remembering being with Tara physically while the other part had never so much as kissed another woman. While it was hardly the most important of her worries at that moment in time, she felt somewhat cheated at this rather unfortunate circumstance.

Still, with all of those memories being inextricably bound up with the events that had seen the end of her first life, she was more than eager to try and suppress them…at least for the time being. Although she knew it should have been one of her very first questions for Giles…she could not bear to ask where Tara was in this life…or if she even still existed. A part of her fervently hoped that someone - Giles, Abraham or Christopher - had destroyed the vampire.

"Can we not talk about her…please," Willow turned her head away, staring at the racks of weapons on the far wall.

"Of course," Faith agreed quickly, hardly wanting to go out of her way to upset Willow further. "Are you hungry…tired?"

Without answering Faith, Willow rose from the stair and crossed the room. Faith watched as she paused in front of the weapons rack and rolled up the sleeves of her pyjamas. A few moments later she selected two wooden staves. She carried them both back into the middle of the room and tossed one in Faith's direction.

Faith caught it smoothly even as Willow adopted an aggressive fighting posture. She couldn't help but grin at the sight of her friend holding the stave in her pyjamas as though she meant business.

"I don't want to hurt you," Faith cautioned, twirling the stave over and over in her hands as she moved towards the centre of the room.

Willow responded by performing the same manoeuvre as Faith, except that she took it a step further by adding a spin. Faith's jaw dropped.

"This body is not exactly in peak condition," Willow decided, glancing down at her rather spindly forearms. "But I think I should be okay."

If Faith's jaw had dropped at Willow's earlier move, then it should have hit the floor after what followed. Faith had never seen anyone move quite so fast let alone tiny, bookish Willow Rosenberg who would sooner lift a pen than a weapon. It quickly became apparent that she was indeed somehow channelling Willow Van Helsing - a woman who was undoubtedly no stranger to weaponry.

To an observer, the sight would have been a strange one. Two young women duelling with staves, one clad appropriately while the other wore a pair of stripey pyjamas.

Faith lost herself in the movement and the crack-crack of stave upon stave as they both danced beneath the golden light of the lamps hanging above them. She soon realised that Willow knew exactly what she was doing, almost as though each move came naturally, without requiring any thought.

Willow too allowed herself to completely inhabit the space of the pads; there was nothing outside of them, no-one other than Faith in her small world. Even as she moved, her feet dancing lightly, she appreciated the fact that this should have been impossible. Just a few days ago Faith would have laid her out flat on her back in a matter of seconds. As it was, she was more than holding her own. She also realised with an internal grin that her shoulder wound was hampering her movements somewhat.

Willow grunted slightly as she ducked inside one of Faith's forward thrusts and delivered a solid blow to her gut. She went down heavily, hitting the pads with a loud thud. As Willow stood over her opponent, she decided not to tell Faith that she had not fought to her full potential.

"You know what?" Faith groaned as she struggled up into a sitting position. "This really isn't fair…you've always been the intelligent one but now you're more athletic than me as well?"

"I'd like nothing more than to be one or the other," Willow replied with a tinge of sadness in her voice as she reached out to help her friend back to her feet. "But Willow Van Helsing has come back for a reason…and I think I have to learn to work with her."

"I know," Faith flexed her limbs to find everything still in working order. "It's still unfair though."

"You want to go other round?" Willow suggested with a playfully arched eyebrow.

"I can go all night." Faith grinned.


	24. The Patchwork Quilt

**Chapter Twenty-Four  
The Patchwork Quilt**

Memories came back to Willow at odd times. It was often obvious which of her lives they were from. It wasn't as though Willow Rosenberg spent her time flouncing around in dresses with half her bosom bared. Her memories of time spent with Tara at Hagley Park were undoubtedly her most cherished.

Several days after the incident with the mirror at Gordon Square and the unexpected personality dump, Willow had managed to sort herself out to the point where she was functioning at somewhere approaching normality. She was not the Willow Rosenberg she had once been, but nor was she Willow Van Helsing. Instead the two had merged into something approximating two halves of a whole. Regardless of her personal involvement, it was the oddest case of reincarnation she had ever stumbled across. As soon as the whole business with the skull was behind her, she planned to write it up and present the paper to the Royal Society. The fact that she herself was the subject did not faze her - although she was rather dismayed to discover that the thought of public speaking still left her terrified. She was could face down a whole cadre of vampires on her own, but the thought of standing and speaking to a room full of crusty, grey-haired men gave her shivers.

It did not take her long to remember that in this life she had parents. Although the memories of her parents came all sorts of unpleasant associations, Willow decided that bad parents were slightly better than no parents at all. It was with a sense of the unknown that she found herself once again standing on the top step of the quaint, well-proportioned terraced house owned by Ira and Sheila Rosenberg. When she reached up to knock on the pale blue door, she did so with a firm, confident hand.

The door was opened rather promptly by her mother. Any warm smile of greeting that she may have been thinking about was quickly replaced with a blatant frown as she gazed down at Willow's attire. Willow followed her gaze and almost instantly realised that she should have thought to wear a dress to visit her parents. As it was, she had donned her customary three piece suit, it was the grey one which was somewhat worn and tired looking and had definitely seen better days. As Willow lifted her gaze after deciding it couldn't be helped, she idly wondered if her mother would react any differently if she were wearing a dapper new suit.

"Wilhelmina Rosenberg, whatever are you wearing?" Sheila blustered; her cheeks turning bright red…you look positively…mannish."

"They're clothes," Willow replied simply. "Unless you prefer I turn up naked?"

"Men's clothes!" Sheila squeaked, her hands making awkward birdlike motions as she appeared poised on the verge of a breakdown.

Willow shrugged casually, hardly willing to apologise for upsetting her mother for simply wearing her own clothes.

"Quickly, come upstairs and change into one of your old dresses before the Colonel sees you!" Sheila suggested, her face brightening at her brilliant plan.

"I will not wear a dress for your comfort…or his, "Willow decided very firmly. "I am quite comfortable."

"Well…" Sheila was completely taken aback by Willow's unexpected reply, she appeared indecisive for a few moments, as though wondering whether she should allow her into the home, however, she fixed an all too broad smile on her face and beckoned Willow inside with a wave of her podgy hand.

Sheila ushered Willow quickly into the parlour where Ira's stout frame was wedged into an overstuffed chair, his feet up on an ottoman in front of him and a large brandy at his side. He peered over his newspaper as Willow moved forward to brush her lips against his cheek,

"Father," she murmured politely, he smelt of brandy and cigar smoke.

As she drew back she watched his features move into a more restrained version of her mother's frown. Willow could see straight through his expression and knew that he was on the verge of outrage. No lady of civilised breeding would dare be seen in public so blatantly wearing men's attire. To see his daughter flaunting the very natural rules governing such things was cause for grave concern indeed. Willow calmly met his gaze, even as she lowered herself onto a hard chair just opposite her father. Sheila sat also, casting worried glances between her husband and daughter as though she were afraid of what would happen next.

Much to Sheila's relief, the arrival of an immaculately attired butler with a tea tray sliced through the tension, although it still simmered away under the surface. Willow knew her mother was one step away from hysterics as she crammed an entire slice of tea cake into her mouth and chewed a little too enthusiastically, as though trying to occupy her mind with eating rather than thinking. The Colonel did not trade his brandy for tea, taking a large swallow to polish off his glass and make room for a refill. Willow accepted a cup of tea that she did not want and let it balance on her knee.

"The Colonel and I received your note," Sheila had finally swallowed her cake, freeing up her jaws for speech once more. "We did not even know you were in Europe so it came as a surprise to us to hear that you had been attacked by a band of thugs."

Willow had sent no such note, she realised that it must have been either Faith or Lara writing to advise her parents - tactfully avoiding the use of the word 'vampire.' No doubt her friends very sensibly thought that her parents might wish to visit her in the hospital or even at her little flat when she recovered enough to go home. Clearly her friends did not know her parents very well.

"I very nearly died," Willow answered, fighting to restrain from mentioning their absence as she knew her mother would have an apology pre-prepared.

"The Colonel and I desperately wanted to visit," Sheila nodded enthusiastically, trying to prod the Colonel into a reaction with a stiff glare. "But I knew it would only upset me to see my darling little girl lying in a hospital bed and you know how delicate my health is…but it is so good to see you up and walking around now. Wasn't it thoughtful of her to visit us, Colonel?"

Ira merely grunted in response, far more interested in the advertisements on the back page of The Times than he was in his daughter's wellbeing. Although his lack of response angered Willow she bit her lip and finally took a sip of her tea. She realised that she should hardly have been surprised, her father had grown increasingly distant with each year that passed since Alex's death, almost to the point where he acted as though he no longer had any children.

In the silence that followed, as Sheila ate more cake and her father took another swill of brandy, Willow found herself wishing she could be anywhere else. Even being on that godforsaken plain at Covasna was preferable to being in her parent's house - vampires and all. She began concocting excuses in her head, ways to beg her leave so soon after arriving without seeming rude.

"You know, Willow," Sheila's mouth was still working around her latest piece of tea cake. "If you were wed this business in Europe would not have happened, you would have had a strong man at your side…or better yet, you would have been at home running your house and preparing for your children."

Willow did a perfect impression of Ira's grunt in response to her mother's statement.

Sheila appeared not to notice as she continued, "You know dear, Sir Joseph Pharazyn is still unmarried, unfortunate man. His wife died and then his fiancé, poor Beth McGregor, upped and died on him as well. Still, I don't know how she ever would have coped with those seven children; she was always so terribly weak and sickly."

Willow could no longer restrain herself from commenting, "I am not looking for a husband and I am most certainly not looking for seven children!"

Sheila's mouth formed into a perfect 'o', a lump of cake still sitting on her tongue as she struggled to interpret Willow's statement. She could not possibly conceive of her daughter meaning literally that she did not want a husband, there simply had to be some other explanation. The cake worked around in her mouth as she pondered the possibilities.

"Have you already found yourself a young man dear?" her mother inquired tentatively. "Do you fear from telling us because he is of an inferior ilk, is he a common man…or possibly an immigrant?"

_No. _Willow heard her own teeth grating. _She died and joined the ranks of the evil undead_.

"You really must feel as though you can tell us, Willow," her mother continued. "We would consider any young man if he was of good character-"

"We bloody well would not!" Ira managed to string together a sentence, finally lowering his paper to sit on his lap.

"Why should it matter who I chose?" Willow growled in reply, looking from Sheila to Ira in turn. "It should not matter whether they be rich or poor, British or not…man or woman."

Sheila frowned. "Man or woman…Wilhelmina, have you lost your mind?"

Willow almost laughed. "In a manner of speaking yes, but I've gained an entirely new one to replace it.

She watched the faces of both parents flicker in between confusion and terror as they wondered whether she truly had gone mad. While Willow felt that she herself was far from sane, she at least knew one very crucial piece of information about herself, past or present. She set down the barely touched cup of tea on a small side table, brushed the palms of her hands over her trousers and stood.

"Mother, Father," Willow turned to each in turn. "There will be no wedding…not now, not ever…unless one day in a future where people are far more enlightened and tolerant, women are permitted to marry each other…and of course if I ever found another woman to love."

Willow derived no satisfaction from the looks of horror on her parent's faces; she was simply stating the truth about herself with absolutely no regard for the consequences.

In a fluster Sheila rose from her seat and waved her arms in her husband's direction. "Quickly Colonel, quickly, call the doctor!"

Willow sighed in exasperation. "I am not sick mother, I am a lesbian."

Sheila stared at Willow with absolutely no comprehension on her face. "What is a 'lesbian'?"

"It means, mother, that I fuck other women," Willow replied casually.

"I should denounce you here and now!" Ira roared, obviously knowing full well what a 'lesbian' was as he finally rose from his chair, the newspaper slid forgotten to the floor.

"You know what; I'm not going to give you that satisfaction. Ira…Sheila, farewell, I would say that I will miss you but there's absolutely nothing to miss…about either of you," Willow was surprised at just how calmly the words flowed from her lips. She realised that she had spent more than a decade wanting to say just those words.

Willow felt nothing but ambivalence at seeing the horrified expression on her mother's face and the outraged expression on her father's. In all honestly, she was glad that the truth was out and terribly glad that she would not have to endure another of her mother's conversations about potential husbands.

Like the military man he was, Ira stalked towards Willow. He lifted his hand to slap her across the face but he had not expected her to move. Willow easily ducked his glancing blow; her hand then snatched out and seized his wrist.

"You will not make me into an image of your choosing," Willow growled in a low voice. "I will not hide who I am!"

"You are a freak!" Ira spat. "And no daughter of mine!"

Sheila had collapsed into the couch, her entire body heaving with loud cries but Willow felt no sympathy for she knew it was not really her she was crying over - it was the memory of a girl who had never existed.

She let go of her father's wrist and glared at him for a fraction longer than necessary before spinning on her heels and walking out of the house for the very last time. It was not until she had exited the house and moved down the steps that she realised the momentous nature of her actions.

* * *

Willow wandered the streets of London for almost an hour before she found herself, almost by instinct, standing at the entrance to another building. This time however she felt none of the unpleasantness associated with her parent's home. She glanced up at the British Museum and realised that, except for Abraham and Tara, every single person that she loved was inside the building.

She walked in the front entrance, quickly bypassing the stares of any staff who may have remembered her breakdown from a few days earlier and into the bowels of the employee only areas of the museum. As she walked the dark corridors she realised with some amount of satisfaction that she was indeed home in the sense of being somewhere she felt safe and comfortable. This feeling only increased as she pushed open the door to her little office. It smelt a little musty after being empty for over two months but her face broke into a broad grin at the sight of so many familiar treasures. Her desk was as messy as ever, the shelves upon shelves of books, the idols crammed into their respective niches, the war spears stacked into one corner; everything was in its place. With a cry of glee she fell down on the rag rug at her feet and flopped over onto her back, staring up at the ceiling and the topmost shelves of books above her head.

Willow was still laughing when she was startled by a soft knock on the already open door. She swivelled slightly to see a rather red-faced Myles Cavendish standing in the door way.

"Is now not a good time?" he ventured quietly. "I just wanted to…"

He got no further as Willow sprang to her feet and enveloped him with her arms. "Myles!"

"…say hello," Myles finished.

Myles was more than a little red-faced as Willow finally let him go, his expression was still a little nervous as though he did not quite know what to say…and he was more than a little put off by the most un-Willow-like display of exuberant affection he had just experienced.

"Um…I have work to do but I just wanted to stop by…you know," he explained further.

"I know, Myles," Willow nodded. "It is good to see you, honestly."

The young man nodded, a small grin spreading infectiously across his face before he continued on his way. Willow was barely left alone in her office long enough to sit down before Lara Croft entered, still relying on a wooden cane to help her around the building. Willow thought the Director looked a little pale, her skin stretched tightly across her cheeks as though she had not had a great deal of sleep of late.

Willow sat up a little straighter in her chair, wondering if she ought to offer Lara a seat but she realised that there were no others in the room.

"I am glad you are back, Willow," she nodded her head slightly, her voice as deep-throated and luscious as ever.

"Back in the building or back to sanity?" Willow commented quickly before biting her lip, Willow Rosenberg would never have uttered such a thing in the presence of Croft…but then again, she was not entirely Willow Rosenberg.

Lara laughed unexpectedly. It was a full, rich sound. "If you would allow me to say it…then both."

"I am sorry for my behaviour in the foyer the other day," Willow apologised.

"Nonsense," Lara shook her head. "After everything that you have been through I am not surprised that you were terrified."

The sound of heavy footsteps running down the corridor caused them both to look up to the doorway. A few moments later Faith entered, her chest heaving slightly.

"One of the staff told me you had come in, Will-" Faith paused when she realised Lara was there. Her previously excited expression disappeared to be replaced by a restrained scowl. "Oh, I'm sorry I didn't realise you already had company."

"It is no problem," Lara replied before Willow could open her mouth. "I was just stopping by to welcome Willow back into the building…for the second time."

Willow smiled at the comment but Faith did not share her amusement. "You show concern for her now, but did you do the same when you sent her off to Europe?" Faith still would not look at Lara. "She very nearly did not come back…not alive anyway!"

"Faith," Willow tried to speak up for herself. "That is not fair-"

"It is bloody fair! She has been playing all of us, you…me especially," Faith finally lifted her gaze and looked straight at Lara. "Was our relationship merely so you could keep a closer eye on Willow?"

Lara's lips parted in shock. "No, Faith…our relationship had absolutely nothing to do with Willow. It was just complicated by those matters. Believe me when I say I never intended to keep you in the dark."

"Like hell you did. What do you say to some fresh air?" Faith suggested looking at Willow, she would not even turn her head slightly to meet Lara's searching gaze.

Willow glanced back and forth between the two women as though she were caught in the middle of something but when Faith gave her a quick glare she gave up and nodded. Faith quickly linked her arm through Willow's and made a rather swift beeline for the door without a glance over her shoulder. Willow did glance over her shoulder. She gave Lara an apologetic smile which was returned quickly but without any great effort. The smile did not reach the Director's eyes. They remained wet and intensely sad.

Lara's expression stayed with Willow as she and Faith made their way out of the museum. She also realised that Faith's entire body was tense and she did not feel her relax until they were both strolling in the park a short distance from the museum.

"You're feeling fine…I mean you're acting with something resembling normality so you must be feeling a little…clearer?" Faith asked as they walked, eager to steer the topic away from her confrontation…or lack of one, with Lara.

"Yes, as you say, something resembling normality." Willow shrugged, instead of continuing to walk she found a convenient bench and sat, Faith followed suit. "I feel like a quilt, you know, bits and pieces slowly being joined together to create a whole person…which is odd because I already thought I was complete to begin with."

Willow shrugged again and ran shaking hands over the legs of her suit. She distinctly remembered sitting on this same bench, or one very close to it, and eating her lunch from a tin lunch box. Another associated memory also stirred but she could not dredge up much more at that time. She let it go and instead turned her attention to her friend sitting on the bench beside her.

"Why won't you forgive her?" Willow ventured quietly. "Whatever she did, it is obvious she loves you."

Faith did not need any further explanation; she knew immediately that Willow was referring to Lara and the heated words the two of them had shared in her office. She regretted that it had taken place in front of Willow, one of the last things her friend need at this difficult time was to see such a public outburst of what had been an intensely private passion. It was somewhat odd that someone who had been through so much could even think to ask someone else about the problems in their life. Then again, she knew could expect nothing less from Willow.

"She put your life in danger, Will," Faith replied fervently, her tone indicating just how seriously she took Willow's safety.

"Faith, I am quite capable of taking care of myself," Willow replied, a little saddened that she was the wedge who had been driven between the two lovers.

"Well you can now that you're manifesting Willow Van Helsing who, if I can just add, sounds like one freakishly scary woman!" Faith commented in an animated voice before remembering that she might as well have been talking to the woman herself. "Sorry…I am still dealing with a few issues involving jealously and a bruised ego."

"I understand…but you also keep changing the topic," Willow admonished her friend lightly.

"Perhaps because I don't want to talk about it," Faith replied heavily. "I know you're only trying to help but I would really appreciate it if we could talk about something else…talking about that woman is only going to anger me…and remind me just how much I want her. Damn that woman and her breasts!"

As Faith let out a sigh that was half born out of frustration and half from longing, Willow felt her cheeks burn. She had to turn her head. It was a few moments before Faith noticed her behaviour. She reached out and laid a gentle hand on her shoulder, drawing Willow downwards until her head was nestled comfortably in her lap. When she laid the back of her hand against Willow's cheek, she found it hot to the touch.

"I speak without thinking, sometimes I should be thankful my love life is not as complicated as yours," Faith was sincere but she could not resist making one particular comment. "Not to mention the fact that you haven't had sex for over a hundred years."

Willow responded with a small smile, Faith spoke the truth. "You don't miss what you don't know…the only problem is I do know what I'm missing. The fire burns within me and there's no way to quench it, not with the woman I long for."

While Willow knew that it was not only Tara who could stir such feelings within her body - her past love for Ayako and her infatuation with Lara Croft's breasts was proof enough – but Tara was where her heart truly lay. Even though it had been over one hundred years, she still remembered the passion of their lovemaking and the way it had felt to be brought to orgasm by the one you loved. Clearer still in her mind was the frantic alley coupling with the vampire who had been Tara. Her cheeks coloured at that particular memory.

"Would you and I make a good couple?" Faith asked, interrupting Willow's chain of thought.

Willow was effectively rendered speechless for a moment. She turned over so she was lying on her back staring up into Faith's eyes. She was surprised to find that there was no jesting smile playing across Faith's lips.

"I don't know," Willow replied, thinking for just a moment before giving the briefest of answers, "No, probably not."

"You're right," Faith agreed a little too quickly.

Willow detected the tiny element of hurt in her friend's voice and she quickly sat up, meeting her gaze directly.

"Faith…are you serious?" Willow asked quietly.

She studied her friend's face but could not tell immediately what she was thinking. Where the expression had been evident in her voice, her eyes were veiled. Willow had to admit that she had never thought of Faith in a sexual way. They had always been friends….more than friends even, sisters. She loved the other woman dearly and the thought of being intimate with her, as beautiful as she was, was almost unpleasant.

Faith shook her head quickly. "I am sorry, Will, perhaps you newfound status as a woman of action has spurred me to think odd thoughts."

"Or perhaps served to remind you that you already have such a woman who loves you," Willow commented.

Faith narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "I am not entirely sure I approve of these new developments in your personality. You are suddenly much too insightful."

The two women sat in the park for a short while longer until the cold drove Willow indoors. She still felt weak due to her healing shoulder injury. It was with some relief that she sank back behind her desk, Faith stood, leaning against the doorway as she watched her friend start to leaf through the stacks of papers in front of her. While a part of her felt rather strange at the pleasure she derived from the feel of paper upon her skin, a larger part was relieved to be back behind a desk, away from the front lines of the battle with evil.

"You know, Faith," Willow commented before her friend left her. "I don't think I want to spend all day sitting here, would you like to spar with me later on today…I will promise to go easy on you if that helps your bruised ego?"

She continued to leaf through the piles, one sheet fell from amidst others and fluttered to the floor. Willow pushed her chair back so she could stoop to pick it up.

"Now I know there is something wrong with you!" Faith said in disbelief. "I suppose you would like me to find you an Atramen or two to take on?"

Willow did not reply to Faith's question, instead she stared at the piece of paper she had just retrieved. It was not a page of text but rather it was a pencil sketch…a sketch of Tara's face. She stared at it in silence for a few moments, realising that this picture was drawn with a great deal of attention to detail. It was almost as though each stroke of the pencil on the paper had been a loving caress. Everything about the face was perfect to the point where Willow felt like crumpling the paper in her fist and throwing it across her office. However, there was something about the sketch…it was almost as though the subject was not the demon Willow remembered so clearly, but rather the young woman who had died so long ago.

Eventually curiosity drove Faith to approach the desk and see for herself what lay on the paper that had captured Willow's attention.

"Do you remember her?" Faith asked quietly when she saw that it was a picture of Tara that Willow held, Willow's 'mystery woman.'

"Why should I remember her?" Willow whispered in a worried voice. "You know her?"

"Of course. I met her at Covasna."

More memories flooded Willow's consciousness to the point where she felt as though she might pass out. The tin lunch box came back to her and she realised that it was on that day that Willow Rosenberg had first seen the vampire formerly known as Tara Maclay. There were other meetings, Tara had spoken little, evoking little of what had taken place in her past. All her memories of the demon were cloudy but she clearly remembered the demon's presence at Covasna where she had sustained her shoulder wound. Willow felt her fists clenching around the paper…two wounds in Tara's presence, one fatal; it was too much of a coincidence. With a savage movement, she tore the sketch in half and tossed the pieces to the floor.

"I must speak with Giles," Willow announced decisively.

BREAK

Giles was not in his workroom when Willow came looking for him but she found him in the next most logical place, the library. The sight of mentor and oldest friend surrounded by a large stack of books took her back in time and she paused for a moment, letting the scene have a calming effect on her. By the time Giles sensed her presence her anger had abated somewhat and she was able to summon a small smile. She approached and perched atop the table Giles was resting on, scooting several books to one side with a swat of her hand.

Giles narrowed his eyes as the stack of books tumbled and went sliding across the well polished table, one close to falling off the table altogether. He stood and collected them back into their neat stack.

"I see you're beginning to manifest some less than desirable personality traits," he commented, moving the books well out of Willow's reach.

"I'm also beginning to think book learning is overrated," Willow replied with a dismissive shrug, picking up another and flipping through it as Giles continued to tidy his space. "The real learning is in the field. In the dead of night when you're backed into a corner and faced with four or five vampires, all just itching to sink their fangs into your flesh and get a taste of your blood. You can't tell me there's a book that would be more worthwhile than that experience?"

"Willow, you've never been backed into a corner with even one vampire," Giles set her straight rather bluntly, completely dismissing the fact that her other half had truly lived that situation more than once, he had already decided that it was far easier to see her as Willow Rosenberg…with a few added personality quirks.

Willow frowned and her mouth twisted into a slight pout. "That's not entirely true is it, Giles?"

"What do you mean?" Giles had to stop fidgeting with his books as they were all arranged in perfect piles, to continue arranging them would only serve to make Willow aware of just how uncomfortable he still was around her.

"The demon who was Tara is still out there and I've seen her, spoken to her…been close to her," Willow spoke quietly, restraining her voice from the angry shouts she truly wanted to be able to make. "Doesn't that strike you as a little odd?"

"Odd?" Giles squeaked nervously. "Odd in what sense?"

Willow gave an annoyed grunt as his deliberate evasion, this was exactly the sort of thing she had come to confront Giles about and she could tell he was going to be difficult about it.

"Giles, the last thing I remember from Willow Van Helsing's life was that demon standing over her…me, with my own bloody sword in her fist. She killed me for god's sake, Giles!"

"It must be difficult," Giles whispered uncomfortably.

"Difficult?" Willow snapped, jumping down from the table and pacing a few steps. "It's bloody awful. Imagine for a second how it would feel to meet your own murderer face to face with them knowing what they've done but you with no bloody clue! She was standing there, staring at me on several occasions, knowing full well what she did to me and she had the nerve to be cryptic and refuse to answer my questions!"

"Willow, there are a number of things you are yet to understand-" Giles began.

"Well help me to understand them!" Willow demanded, spinning to face Giles. "Help me to understand why that demon is back in my life again…and more to the point, did you know she was skulking around me?"

From the expression on Giles's face, Willow did not even need her mentor to open his mouth and answer that question. He knew. He had been there at Covasna, had watched Tara plunge the sword into her back and yet he knew she was back again. Willow stared at him with a flabbergasted expression on her face for a few moments while his mouth worked soundlessly as he tried to form a coherent explanation. At that point in time Willow wasn't interested in hearing excuses, she could only struggle to reign in her temper, a temper she was still coming to grips with.

She had to drag her gaze away before he received a fist in his face just as Faith had done the day before. She crossed to the nearest of the solid bookshelves and pressed her forehead against the cool wood, blocking out everything except the sound of her own breathing. Being as intelligent as he was, Giles knew to let her be.

It amazed Willow just how vividly she remembered each of her recent meetings with the demon. Although with a few moments reflection she realised that this was because she had instinctively felt the connection between them and in a way, history was repeating itself as she fell in love with her all over again. Willow clenched her fists; even just the thought of it was repulsive.

When she turned back to search Giles's expression once more she immediately knew that he was not going to give her the answers she needed.

"Why?" was all Willow needed to ask.

"You are not yet ready."

"Predictable," Willow muttered, thoroughly unimpressed.

"You are not!" Giles's voice was sterner, as though she were once again the small girl he had taught. "And I will only say that you need to be patient. She has suffered immensely in the years since Willow Van Helsing's death."

"I died!" Willow was entirely unsympathetic. "She bloody well deserves several lifetimes of suffering!"

"You're a little upset about it then?" Giles mused most unhelpfully.

"Upset?" Willow was hard pressed to think of a more inappropriate descriptor. "Giles I'm livid, what kind of vampire hunter lets a vampire kill her and get away with it?"

"Well, most people don't come back to carry out their own revenge," Giles pointed out in a matter of fact tone.

"Well I bloody well did come back!" Willow growled, slamming a fist into the cupped palm of her other hand. "And the next time I see that double-crossing bitch I'm going to take up the sharpest stake I can find, shove it in her chest and watch that smug smile disappear from her face!"


	25. Fate's Fool Indeed

**Chapter Twenty-Five  
Fate's Fool Indeed**

For early summer, the night was surprisingly stifling. No breeze blew to lift the heavy veil of heat that ensnared London within its grasp. As dangerous as it was, some people had desperately left windows slightly ajar in the hope of coaxing a little cool air into their rooms as they slept. With her footsteps barely making a sound on the footpath, Tara glanced up at an open first floor window as she passed beneath it. She frowned, wondering if these people knew any better. There were many things that went bump in the night other than vampires, any of which could easily slip through that window. With a murmured word, Tara closed the window, even going as far as to turn the latch on the inside. She continued walking down the street.

Despite the heat Tara wore a thick woollen coat with its fur lined hood tugged up over her head. Although her heart beat steadily within her chest, she was still immune to the elements. Tara felt her shoulders sag with a small sigh; she would have preferred to feel the heat instead of the infernal chill which gripped her body.

She continued walking towards her destination, although with one slight detour. Tara glanced up at the street sign which read _Gordon Square_. It was a street she had not walked down for some months, not since Europe and the events that had taken place at Covasna. While she had watched over Willow from a distance throughout her time in Klausenburg's hospital and to a lesser degree as she returned to the relative safety of her own little flat, Tara had distanced herself these past few weeks. She desperately needed time to face the fact that she had very nearly failed. It was almost criminal to think that after everything Willow had been through that she had almost died in the same place her predecessor met her end. Tara had already struggled with enough guilt to last several lifetimes, adding more was a matter of course.

Walking past the Van Helsing's home on Gordon Square had been something of a ritual. Although she knew that Willow had spent some years there, it was far more significant in terms of the time Tara herself had spent there. It was time she could never forget. As desperately as she wanted to suppress those memories, her guilt would not allow her to. It was a form of self-punishment. Tara felt she deserved every hour, week and year of pain she had endured and she would carry that with her for the rest of her life, however long that would be. As she passed Gordon Square she felt something odd, the usual revulsion she felt at the sight of its austere façade had diminished somewhat to be replaced by an odd sensation, her heart speed up and she felt light-headed. It was a milder form of the sweet torture she felt when in Willow's presence.

_Willow's here? _Tara glanced up at the usually dark windows to see faint light seeping out from the gaps between curtains on the first floor. She stopped walking and stood staring up at the window. Although she had no way of knowing for sure, she felt that Willow was in that very room. Her forehead creased into a slight frown that betrayed the deeper worries in her mind, for some reason Willow had returned to Gordon Square even though she ought to have no memory of ever having been in the house.

_You are being ridiculous, _Tara breathed out gently, letting the tension flow from her body. _You just want her to be in there because you miss her…keep walking._

Tara left the black house on Gordon Square behind her and continued on to her destination, she managed to glance back over her shoulder just once.

* * *

Though the night was late…not to mention hot, the heart of the British Museum continued to beat thrum along at a steady beat. Night watchmen patrolled the dark corridors, always wary and slightly nervous as they walked amongst treasures plundered from Greece, Africa and Egypt as though any one of them might come to life.

However, the warriors depicted by the Elgin marbles remained frozen in their tableau, the mummified cats did not stir in their wrappings and the tribal figures continued to stare solemnly into the darkness. The only sounds besides the watchmen themselves were the urgent footsteps echoing throughout the basement employee corridors. The watchmen did not walk those halls for those that worked within them were quite capable of protecting themselves and the secrets that lay within their reach. One set of footsteps was more agitated than the other, reflecting the mood of the young woman who had just been summoned from a light night training session.

"If we are both here then who is with Will?" Faith demanded of Giles as she followed him down the corridor. "I know she can take care of herself but I would not be happy with her being in that huge house on her own."

Faith had to increase her pace to keep up with Giles's lengthy strides. She was already sweating heavily beneath the shirt and breeches she wore and would much rather have been running a wet cloth over her face than following the old man, it was bad enough that he had interrupted her session and demanded that she follow him. Faith had little patience for authority and as far as she was concerned, Giles had no right to tell her what to do.

"You'd better start explaining yourself, Giles!" Faith snapped in frustration. "If you wanted to speak to me, you could have done so in the training room."

Giles paused at the door to his workroom and raised his eyebrows. "I could have spoken to you in there yes but there are others joining us and it smells in there."

"No worse than your workroom," Faith fired back. "Now answer my questions damn you. Who is with Will, and why are we even having a meeting at this time of night?"

"Firstly," Giles let out a long suffering sigh. "Myles is staying at Gordon Square."

"Myles?" Faith screwed up her face with a dubious expression. "How on earth-"

Giles held up a stern finger to interrupt the slayer. "Faith, before you say anything I would urge you to reconsider your words, Myles is a worthy young man who more than proved himself in Europe…and Willow trusts him implicitly."

"I wasn't going to make any statement to the contrary!" Faith protested. "It's just that…I'm her closest friend, I should be the one watching her! My apologies, Giles. I guess I'm just a little over protective at the moment?"

Giles nodded knowingly before he opened the door to his workroom. The lights were already turned on as the pair entered. The room appeared the same each time Faith stepped into it, although if anything she thought it had grown even more untidy. There was however one rather noticeable difference this time, Lara Croft herself was perched on a chair, absently playing with one of Giles's projects until she glanced up and saw Faith. She slowly placed the unidentifiable object back on the work bench and rose from the chair. Faith stared for a moment before her lips tightened and she pushed past Giles to leave the room.

Giles cast a questioning glance in Lara's direction before following the young woman, who was currently in the process of stalking back down the corridor the way they had just come.

"Faith," he called calmly.

"I'm not going to your meeting Giles, you can fill me in later." Faith continued walking.

"Faith, stop!" Giles growled, his voice imparting both authority and anger.

Something in his tone made Faith take notice and she stopped, whirling around so she could march back towards him. Her face however said that she was not about to change her mind. "Giles, seriously, you cannot ask me to be in the same room with that woman!"

"Why? Because you two had a lover's quarrel?" Giles asked quite calmly.

"Yes!" Faith shot back all too quickly before realising exactly what Giles had said, her mouth opened and closed as though she wanted to continue her tirade but the words would not emerge as she had realised that Giles had said something entirely too insightful and inappropriate.

Although she had avoided Lara in the weeks that had passed since their falling out over Lara's silence on the Willow issue, she had done this so casually that she did not think that anyone had noticed. As for their relationship happening at all, she had been certain up until this point that no one outside of she, Lara and Willow were even aware that a physical relationship had developed between the two women. Her slip in front of Willow had been bad enough and now Giles knew. In Faith's opinion this was as bad as her parents knowing...god rest their souls.

"She is your employer, Faith," Giles said sternly. "As such you will treat her with all the respect that position entails…and you will leave your personal feelings out of this. These are grave times and there is much at stake for all of us."

Faith lowered her gaze, finally chastened. "I know, I am sorry Giles."

When Faith and Giles rejoined Lara in the workroom, Faith managed to retain a sense of calm, she did however remain standing on the opposite side of the room from her estranged lover. However, her pre-occupation with Lara was forgotten from the moment the final attendee joined them. Faith noticed an airy, dark mist creeping in through a vent in the ceiling. Her well trained senses knew instinctively what it was and by the time the vampire solidified in front of them she had a loaded crossbow in her hands. However, she hesitated immediately when she the vampire slipped back its hood to reveal a familiar face.

"It is lovely to see you again too, Faith," Tara seemed bemused by the crossbow aimed at her chest.

"How can you get in here?" Faith demanded of Tara before turning to Giles. "Is she supposed to be able to do that?"

"The usual rules do not apply to Tara," Giles explained. "As such the protections that we have in place around this building also do not apply."

"That's comforting," Faith muttered, but she lowered her weapon.

Tara turned and nodded towards the Director of the British Museum. "Director Croft, it is a pleasure as always."

"Indeed," Lara murmured with a nod of her own and just the slightest flicker of her tongue over her luscious lips.

Faith had to blink a few times as she wondered whether her eyes had played tricks on her. Was that really an appreciative gleam in Lara's eyes? Faith glanced back to the blonde vampire but the expression on her face was unreadable as she returned the stare. She had to admit that Tara truly was an imposing and beautiful presence in their midst…but she was also a demon. Faith tore her gaze away and found a stool. She sat with a sullen expression on her face and felt decidedly unappreciated. She wondered what it was about the vampire that had women caressing her with their eyes in such an inappropriate manner…but then again, as she glanced up at Lara and found her now looking straight at her rather than the demon, Faith realised she was just jealous. She also looked away from Lara and was then forced to look at the only person in the room who did not fuel her anger, Giles. Faith kept the loaded crossbow cradled on her lap as though she thought she might have call to use it in a hurry.

While the three humans sat down, Tara shook her head at Giles's offer of a stool and continued to stand. As such her powerful presence dominated the room.

"Giles, I passed by Gordon Square on my way here-" Tara began.

"You actually had to walk?" Faith interrupted in a sarcastic mutter.

"I enjoy walking, don't you?" Tara replied quietly, tactfully avoiding a barbed comment, before continuing, "There was a light on…I didn't dwell on it for overly long but I did wonder."

"Ah yes," Giles appeared as though he too had forgotten that Tara had no idea that the Willow she knew from the present was not quite herself anymore. "It appears that Abraham was a little more adept with his spell casting that he led me to believe."

"Why do you say that?" Tara asked, her eyes narrowing at the mention of Abraham's name.

"Willow entered Gordon Square of her own accord. It was inevitable that she would as the address was in the front of the diary. It appears that someone, and I am presuming it was Abraham, bewitched the mirror to show Willow the past from Willow Van Helsing's perspective."

Tara's already pale visage became even whiter almost immediately but she also sighed resolutely. "Abraham did not bewitch the mirror. He knew the theory but he never had that kind of power."

"Who did it then?" Giles asked with a frown.

"I did," Tara replied. "Just after you made the decision to bring Willow back. I knew she would have no memories of what happened to her, and I knew she would have to find out eventually but I did not want to have to tell her to her face…and a part of me did not want her to find out at all. The mirror was my way of salving my conscience…at least a little."

"You should have told me…that spell could have had grave consequences for Willow!" Giles paced the floor, the determined set to his shoulders said that he was rather angry. "As it is…she now knows everything that took place between finding out about your death…right up until her own death."

"She had a right to know," Tara whispered in a broken voice.

The blonde vampire finally did sink onto the stool Giles had set out for her. It was as though she did not have the strength to hold herself up any longer.

Faith glanced back and forth between Giles and Tara, she did not like the implication present in their glances. "Wait a minute…Giles, just how did Willow Van Helsing die?"

Giles just shook his head slowly indicating that it was not his place to say. He then nodded discreetly in the direction of Tara who was slumped on the stool, her hair hanging forward over her face.

While Tara looked to be nothing more than a harmless young woman…Faith however did not take anything at face value and knew she was so much more. She narrowed her eyes as she strode towards the slumped form. As she approached Tara looked up, thin tracks of tears sliding down her face.

"You know the answer to my question, demon?" Faith demanded.

"Lured by the promise of power, I betrayed her," Tara answered bluntly. "She trusted me to stand with her at Covasna but I stabbed her in the back."

For a moment Faith lowered her crossbow and stared stupidly at Tara as she tried to process this startling revelation. "You did what?"

"Faith, I was a soulless vampire…you of all people should know just how corrupt such a creature is," Tara continued in a bland voice, not justifying her actions but merely stating the truth.

"What in the bloody hell went on between you and Willow?" Faith demanded, the crossbow shaking in her grip. "Because this is all sounding like one twisted mess that the Willow I know would never have been involved with!"

"Willow and I…are complicated," was all Tara could whisper.

"That's an understatement! When we were healing Willow at Covasna, I saw in my mind images of you when you were alive. You loved her then…and I think she never stopped loving you…she probably still loved you when you stabbed her in the back …and now you're here showing all the concern in the world for her and I'll be damned if that little story makes any sense at all!"

"You're right, it makes no sense," Tara admitted sadly, each of Faith's words inflicted pain like a barb. "I could explain everything-"

"Well then it is a pity that you will not get that chance," Faith growled, once again lifting the crossbow level with Tara's heart. She could think of nothing else other than this demon stabbing the past self of her dearest friend.

"No, Faith," Giles interrupted sternly. "This isn't the time…and it should be enough for you that I trust her."

Faith's eyes glowered, indicating that Giles's trust was far from enough. However, she gritted her teeth and managed to hold back on any further judgements she had to make about the blonde vampire. She grew even angrier and more confused when she saw the strange look that passed between Giles and Tara. With a snort, she threw the crossbow to the ground, it instantly triggered and the bolt shot out and thudded into a wall a few metres to the left of Lara's head. Faith looked exceptionally disappointed and sat down just opposite Giles.

"No one ever tells me anything," Faith grumbled like a petulant child. "You, Lara…vampire bitch over there."

"I told Lara not to tell you anything," Giles explained as if this immediately made perfect sense.

"Why the hell would Lara listen to you?" Faith demanded, looking back and forth between the old man and her lover, "She's the Director of the bloody British Museum and you're…well, you're whatever you are."

Faith bit her lip as she immediately regretted her hasty words. However, Giles merely returned her stare with an infinitely knowing gaze. She cocked her head to one side as she studied the old man, as she did realisation dawn and she realised that she barely knew him. In that gaze she saw much more than the quirky inventor who toiled away in his solitary workshop. She saw the knowledge and experience gained only via the passage of time. Her own gaze shifted from Giles to Lara and then back again as she realised he was indeed in charge.

"Giles is a warlock, Faith," Tara explained quietly. "And he is over five hundred years old."

Faith's jaw dropped as she continued to stare at Giles. "And I just thought you aged badly."

"I will ignore that little comment," Giles replied tartly.

"Well you deserve it for being such an arse; you can start making amends by filling me in," Faith demanded without seeming the least bit apologetic. "And do not miss anything out."

Faith listened as Giles laid it all out for her. She already knew the Covasna myth of course, even before Willow's tragic accident there. However she had no idea just how deeply her friends were involved. Her jaw remained in an open position throughout Giles's tale and by the time he had brought her up to speed on everything he knew, her jaw was locked in position.

It took some time before Faith could move her mouth enough to form words but her first concern was predictable. "Does Willow know all of this?"

"She lived much of it," Giles explained warily. "But she was dead for over one hundred years."

Faith caught the tone in his voice and came to an immediate realisation. "You didn't tell me any of this because you thought I would fill Willow in didn't you? Well you are bloody right! She needs to know…especially about that vampire…" Faith stabbed a finger in Tara's direction but cut herself off as she said the word; she frowned as she turned to face Tara. "Or whatever the bloody hell you are…how the hell can you still consort with them? Do they not sense what you are?"

Tara just nodded. "They see me as corrupt…but you must understand the position which I held. Killing Willow made me second only to Dracula himself and despite what Abraham Van Helsing did, they continued to trust me."

"But you cannot be trusted, not by us or them!" Faith growled in response.

"Faith!" Giles cautioned.

"Faith is right," Tara interrupted with a resigned glance in Giles's direction. "On one count at least; my former friends have become exceptionally suspicious regarding Angelus's disappearance…at present I dare not show myself in their company."

Giles looked exceedingly shocked. "Tara…please tell me you did not do what I think you did!"

"He deserved it," Tara merely shrugged.

"Yes, but now you've ruined your status among our enemies. That was a foolish move Tara," Giles was not at all impressed.

"After all that Tara has done for us over the years, we cannot abandon her now," when Lara finally spoke everyone else in the room turned to face the Director, the stern set to her mouth indicating that she felt strongly about the words she spoke.

Lara also had strong suspicions regarding Faith's reactions to her statement. She turned to her estranged lover, thoroughly expecting to see an expression of indignation. However she found instead one of resignation as though she was not even going to attempt to argue.

"I agree," Giles nodded towards Lara. "And I will need to think on this further…as well as the more pressing matter of the skulls whereabouts, the key obviously lies with Willow but I think unlocking any memories she may have will be difficult."

"You're all missing the little fact that she was dead when old Abe hid the bloody thing!" Faith commented.

All three of her companions turned to give her a look that said they did not need to be reminded of that little fact. Faith just shrugged as she reached out and gently stroked a bottle of holy water sitting on one of Giles's benches.

"I know I can help her find the skull, Giles, I knew both her and Abraham well…" Tara suggested, her voice betraying just how badly she wanted to see Willow.

"Tara, wait," Giles cautioned her. "Willow is strong, she's adjusting well but if we make a false move it could undo the consciousness that she has made for herself."

"Giles, please!" Tara pleaded. "I have to see her…explain."

"She is understandably very angry, I think possibly even angry enough to do what she could not do all those years ago when she first met you in your non-human form…and you've changed now, it would be wrong for Willow to punish you for what your demon self did."

Tara shook her head sadly. "I still deserve to be punished Giles, as near to being human as I am, I still remember what it felt like to kill her…you have no idea what it is like living with a memory like that!"

"Tara, we will protect you as best we can…all of us," he made a point of looking directly at Faith. "But Faith will help Willow find the skull."

"Great plan! You stay away from her you hear?" Faith stabbed her finger angrily in Tara's direction. "I don't care if you've got some twisted little fantasy that she still loves you after all that you've done to her, the people that she still loves will take care of her…better than you ever could…demon!"

Although her expression was one of pain, Tara also managed a small smile of resignation in response to Faith's words; she faced the vampire hunter calmly. "I know you will, Faith." Tara then turned to face Giles and Lara and the smile disappeared from her face leaving just the pain. "I will await news of your success in finding the skull…until then I will stay out of everyone's affairs."

"Try not to get dusted," Faith said just as the vampire went out the same way she had come, through the vents in the ceiling.

Both Lara and Giles glared at her as though her rudeness was inexcusable. Faith replied with a grunt of contempt and left the room in the conventional way. She managed to relax somewhat now that she was out of the presence of the blonde vampire and Lara Croft but she still could not shake off the fact that the vampire was the thing responsible for the death of her best friend…or at least her death in a past life. Faith was so confused trying to piece together everything Giles had told her that she felt a strong headache coming on.

Faith had only just returned to her own office when she heard quiet footsteps behind her. There was no need for her to turn immediately as she already knew who it was. The smell of the woman filled her nostrils, it was intoxicating and maddening at the same time. Faith was forced to place both hands on the corner of her desk to hold herself steady…and to keep herself from whirling around and launching herself forward into the woman's arms. She closed her eyes and breathed out deeply before opening her mouth to speak.

"I suppose you think I owe you an apology," Faith said bitterly, her tone far from apologetic.

"No," Lara replied with her voice soft but urgent. "I owe you one, I'm sorry that you were not brought into the fold earlier…and I apologise for the hurt you have suffered."

Faith slowly opened her eyes; there was a determined gleam in their dark depths. She knew she was dancing a dangerous waltz but it she could no longer refrain from dancing to Lara's tune. The attraction between the two of them was undeniable and Faith finally realised just how futile it was to try and avoid the other woman. With a last intake of breath she spun on her heels and crossed the distance between her and Lara in just two loud heartbeats. On the third heartbeat their lips were pressed together. The kiss lasted just a moment but that was all it took for Faith to realise just what it was she had missed.

"Slowly," Lara whispered a moment later. "I think we really need to talk things through before we-"

Even as Lara drew back, Faith reached out and wrapped her fingers around the back of her neck. With a fierce but calculated tug she drew Lara's mouth back towards her own. For a few delicious seconds she resumed their kiss, indicating that slow was most definitely not the speed she wished to travel at.

"Let's just bloody skip it," Faith growled, her headache already fading.

* * *

Although both Giles and Faith had been very clear in their respective warnings, Tara did not heed either. Her burning desire to see Willow outweighed any concerns she had for her own safety or for Willow's. In hindsight she cursed her lack of an iron will and wondered what on earth she had been hoping for with the meeting.

Tara did not find it difficult to track Willow down. She merely sat and waited, observing the black house at Gordon Square. Although she knew that young Myles Cavendish was watching over Willow with orders not to let her leave the house at night, it soon became obvious that he presented a rather insignificant obstacle to someone of her talents. It was near to the middle of the night when Tara saw a dark shape slip from a window at the rear of the house and drop silently to the ground. She recognised the way the shape moved and knew it could only be Willow. With her heart pounding in trepidation, Tara followed at a safe distance, hugging the dark shadows.

It soon became apparent that Willow was not merely out for an evening stroll; Tara saw the slender shape of a sword scabbard protruding from her belt. Willow was hunting. This became even more apparent when Willow led her straight to one of the largest cemeteries in town. In the dark, this late at night, it was a foreboding place, full of shadows and unexplained noises. The Willow Rosenberg that Tara had observed for so many years would not have set foot in such a place during daylight, let alone now. There was no doubt that this young woman had changed.

As Tara followed some distance back, she caught a glimpse of the side of Willow's face as she turned her head and could seen the familiar profile. The changes had taken place not in her appearance but in the way she moved and carried herself. Tara was so intent with her study of Willow, she did not realise that she was in fact being tracked. Despite the fact that her feet made no sound whatsoever on the ground beneath her feet, she realised that Willow knew she was there. She stopped moving and Tara watched her body relax slightly, she was unafraid.

"If you're a demon I will give you the opportunity to run but I would warn you that there is little point, I will catch you anyway," Willow spoke over her shoulder.

There was no immediate reply and in response Willow turned, drawing a sharp stake from the inside of her coat as she did so. She frowned when she saw the outline of a cloaked figure standing in the shadow of a crypt. The frown changed to a scowl a moment later as the figure stepped forward and drew back its hood. What little light there was in the graveyard illuminated the features of the woman she last remembered standing over her at Covasna, a bloody katana in her hand. The scowl became an expression of blatant disgust and her fingers tightened on the stake in her hand.

"You," the single word emerged as though dredged up from the very pit of Willow's gut, it was full of loathing.

Willow had nothing more to say, all she wanted now was to see her stake plunge into the creature's heart.

"You must understand something-" Tara began desperately, already wounded by the tone of Willow's voice.

Willow cut her off with a sharp laugh, "You didn't just kill me you traitorous bitch, you fucked me, said you loved me and then stabbed me in the back with my own damn sword. Just how much more do I need to understand?"

"Many things!" Tara responded. "Willow, do not act on impulse without hearing everything!"

"What? Without hearing more lies from a demon?" Willow took a few steps closer to Tara. "I have heard enough!"

Without any further warning the lithe redhead sprung forward towards Tara. She would have landed within striking distance had the blonde vampire not suddenly disappeared into mist. Willow growled in frustration as she believed her prey had fled the scene. However, when she turned she found Tara had re-materialised directly behind her. She lunged with the stake but Tara caught her wrist before she could plunge it into her body. With her wrist ensnared in a firm grip, Willow now found herself as close to Tara as she had been that last fateful day at Covasna when they had shared a kiss. At the time Willow had thought that kiss to be a promise for the future, now she knew it had merely been the spider luring the fly further into its web of deceit. She met Tara's watery blue gaze and in her fury she saw none of the sadness and regret that lurked there. With an angry growl she spun, twisting Tara's grip so that she was forced to let go or break her wrist. Once free she whirled around again and this time smashed the back of her hand into Tara's jaw. The vampire stumbled but did not fall and when Willow's next blow came, she blocked it with her own palm.

Willow soon realised that whatever had happened to the vampire in the time since her death, none of her awesome strength had been lost. Even as she sent blow after blow in her direction, desperately searching for an opening to use her stake, Tara was able to parry each and every one, allowing Willow no quarter. Seeking to use her only advantage, Willow tossed the stake aside and drew the sword she carried.

As Tara saw the steel blade flash, she recognised that it was a plain sabre and not the katana Willow Van Helsing owned. Still, she was quite sure that Willow was just as capable of removing her head from her shoulders the plain weapon.

"Willow, this is ridiculous, do you really wish to destroy me?" Tara asked even as she dodged a flurry of strikes.

"Yes!" Willow snarled, slashing downwards and tearing a large rent in Tara's cloak.

As the sword blade missed by ever decreasing margins, Tara knew that she had to make her move soon or Willow would end up striking a lethal blow. Given that she was not attempting to hurt Willow in any way, she could only lose this battle. She ducked beneath yet another swing and before Willow could bring her sword around in a backhanded slash, she surged forward and wrapped her arms around the slender girl, driving her to the earth. As Willow fell her shoulder caught the end of a headstone and the sabre was jarred from her grip. She had barely been pressed beneath Tara's body for a split second when she used her momentum to send the vampire flying over her head with the help of a well placed foot to Tara's gut.

Tara landed hard and realised the hard way one of the drawbacks of actually having to breathe as the wind was knocked from her lunges. She had no time to recover before Willow was straddled across her body, the discarded stake now back in her hand. Although there were any number of ways she could defend herself, Tara chose to do nothing as Willow drew her arm back in preparation for plunging the stake into her heart. She merely lay beneath her weight, staring up into merciless green eyes as she waited for everything to end. Unlike Willow, she was not essential to finding the skull and destroying it. If her death would put Willow in a better place to achieve that end, then she was prepared to let it happen.

As she lay waiting for her second death, her heart thudded wildly, her chest rising and falling with each gasp of breath. Tara was terrified and she could not hide it.

However, even as Willow took one last breath of her own before stabbing downwards, she suddenly realised that something was very wrong with the scene in front of her. Tara was a vampire, she was dead…and yet her chest was unmistakably rising and falling as though she were actually breathing. With her eyes wide, Willow laid her left hand on Tara's chest and was further surprised as she felt her heart thudding against her hand. Although she still loathed her with every fibre of her being, Willow could not bring herself to plunge the stake into a still beating heart. It fell from her loosening grasp and her arm dropped weakly to her side. After all this time she once again experienced the sweet fragrance of pure white roses.

A few moments later she rose off Tara's body and onto her shaking legs and stumbled a few steps away.

Tara started to follow suit and found that Willow did not make any move to attack her. She did not rise to her feet and instead rested on her knees, her head bowed.

Willow could not look at her. Tara was alive? She struggled to understand how this could have possibly happened…Giles himself had said it was impossible. Yet even as Willow tried to fathom this possibility, she remembered that just minutes ago Tara had shifted into her familiar misty form. She turned and stared, in all outward appearances, Tara was still a vampire…and yet she wasn't.

"What the hell are you?" Willow whispered as she stared at her former lover.

"Ask Giles," Tara whispered in a broken voice. "He will be able to show you everything, what happened at Covasna…and in the years afterwards.'

"I've tried; he thinks I'm not ready," Willow's tone indicated that she believed she was more than ready.

"I will speak to him…and he will show you," Tara finally struggled to her feet, she lent heavily on the nearby wall as though a stiff breeze would knock her off her feet once again. "I hope once you see that not judge me as harshly as you do now. Although nothing in my past can justify what I did to you, Willow, I hope at least for understanding…and perhaps in time…forgiveness?"

Willow did not reply. Instead she stared at Tara with an expression that was torn between hatred and love. The incongruity of the emotions battling it out within her body was such that her pain was palpable. It crackled in the air around the two women, so much so that neither could move for several minutes. Tara stood next to the wall, gripping it with white knuckled fingers and Willow stood with her arms loosely at her side, the stake almost forgotten in her hand.

It eventually became too much for either of them, Tara watched the corners of Willow's jaw tighten and realised that her ex-lover was struggling to maintain control. Rather than find out if Willow truly would destroy her even after discovering her heart beat once more, she smiled sadly and her features gradually faded into nothingness. Her non-corporeal self quickly disappeared into the darkness, leaving Willow alone in the cemetery.

Willow did not have the words to describe the way she felt. A part of her desperately wanted Tara to stay so she could lay her head against her chest and hear her heart beat once again. Another part of her however, wanted to try once more to drive a stake through that heart, beating or not. Her own heart throbbed uncomfortably in her chest as she too turned to leave the graveyard. She had made up her mind to return home to Gordon Square where she knew she would experience a sleepless night. Tomorrow she would go to Giles and demand he fulfil Tara's promise.

_I will be damned if anything I learn will cause me to forgive her for what she did. _Willow thoughts were determined as she retrieved her fallen sword. Still she could not deny that learning the truth was a very attractive prospect indeed. Her mind once again flicked back to her close proximity with Tara and she felt the equally sharp emotions which now mingled with her anger.

_I am fate's fool indeed_, Willow mused unhappily. _Why taunt me so cruelly with renewed hope after all these years? Can I not just kill her and be done with it?_


	26. Alas Poor Yorick

**Chapter Twenty-Six  
Alas Poor Yorick**

While sleep was on her mind, Willow could not bring herself to return to Gordon Square when she left the graveyard. Instead she wandered the streets in the hope the she would find something to kill in order to take her mind off the one demon that she could not. However, the streets of London were unusually empty save for drunks and whores. Willow was left alone with her thoughts until the sun's first rays touched the tears on her cheeks. Even then, rather than return home, she found herself headed towards the comforting surrounds of the British Museum.

She expected to find solace in the quiet halls she knew so well but instead she still found only the despair of her own mind. The only image that played over and over behind her eyes was that of Tara splayed on the ground beneath her, her chest heaving with terror as she steeled herself for her own destruction at the hands of her former lover. Willow still felt the rapid thud of Tara's heart against the palm of her hand. However, all of this added up to very little real information and left Willow confused and desperate for answers. Giles was not in his workroom. The only other soul she could find was a rather tired looking Faith whom Willow found in the training room.

Her friend was engaged in some slow form of martial art, moving in graceful, fluid motions across the practice mats with her eyes closed. Willow paused by the door and watched for a minute. She was about to announce her presence when Faith opened her eyes and looked at her without interrupting the flow of her movements.

Faith performed one last movement before yawning widely and crossing the floor towards Willow. "You haven't slept have you?"

Willow shook her head but came back with an observation of her own. "Neither have you."

Faith shrugged and stretched like a cat. "Well, last night was intense."

Willow felt as though Faith was describing her own night. Meeting Tara again after all that had happened to her had been intense to say the least. She suddenly felt exceptionally weary and realised just how much she needed to sleep.

She leaned against the door frame in an effort to hold herself up. "Intense how?" Willow watched as a slight flicker passed over Faith's face as though she did not want to say something. "Faith?"

In actual fact, Faith was dwelling on the meeting that had taken place with Giles and Tara and the information that had been shared. While it was information Willow would want to know, Faith did not feel that it was her place to share it with her. Giles said he would show her and Faith knew that her scattered recollections would not compare with the warlock's methods. If she let slip to Willow, then the poor girl would only grow more confused. Faith also did not think that she could keep her personal dislike of Tara from creeping into anything she said. Therefore she thought it best to keep her mouth shut on those matters. Instead she allowed a gleam into her eye and a wee smirk to cross her face.

"Lara and I made up," Faith purred happily, knowing that particular piece of information could more than justify her sleepless night. "We ended up fucking on the desk in my office…but as a result my back is killing me."

Willow well was accustomed to Faith's blunt manner of speaking and as such she only coloured slightly - although she felt this colour heighten considerably when a mental picture of the act wandered into her mind. Willow shook her head furiously for a moment to clear the picture.

"Remind me not to sit on your desk ever again," Willow commented, the shaking having done little to dislodge the unwanted image. She made a face of mock disgust to hide her discomfort. "I am happy for you both. You deserve each other."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Faith narrowed her eyes but then laughed lightly, giving Willow a playful slap on the shoulder, "Anyway, the sword? One would come to the obvious conclusion that you have been out doing my job…or you are trying to make a fashion statement."

"No, no fashion statements here," Willow tightened her hand around the hilt of the sword still strapped to her waist. "It was my intention to hunt but I ran into an old friend…and the night went decidedly downhill from there. In fact it pretty much hit rock bottom."

Faith's gaze narrowed suspiciously. "This 'friend' wouldn't happen to have blonde hair and a penchant for wearing black now would she?"

At Willow's small nod, Faith smashed her fist into the palm of her hand and appeared aggravated, muttering something under her breath. However, before Willow could ask her to explain, Giles made an appearance. Willow noticed that his gaze first went to Faith who shook her head quickly as though denying his unspoken question. Willow had not been told a thing…not yet anyway. He then turned to Willow and noted the dark clothes she wore and the sword on her hip.

"I see it is impossible to keep you indoors." He sighed in a resigned fashion.

"I like the night," Willow replied simply.

"You do not," Faith interrupted. "You're afraid of the dark."

Willow frowned. Faith was right…or rather she had been right. She searched her memories of the previous night. Beyond the drama with Tara, she realised that at no point had she been afraid of the dark. A small, bemused smile played at the corners of her lips.

"Faith," Giles interrupted Willow's thoughts when he spoke. "I just passed your office and it is a mess, papers and books strewn everywhere. I do not want to know what on earth you've been doing in there but I would like you to go and straighten it out. Willow, I would like you to come with me."

Willow frowned for the second time in less than a minute as Giles ordered Faith about like a father ordering a child to tidy her room. The Faith she knew should have told Giles in no uncertain terms that she would do no such thing. Surprisingly however, Faith merely smirked at the mention of her office and moved to obey Giles's order. As she passed Willow her smirk disappeared and she gave the other woman's shoulder a firm squeeze.

Giles did not say a further word and left the training room with Willow in tow. They did not head for his workroom but instead for the small basement library that housed the books too rare or dangerous to be kept in the Great Reading Room in the museum proper. The smaller library happened to be below the other, and they were linked by a spiralling staircase in the centre of the two rooms. At this time of the morning the library was eerily empty. The shadows between the close shelves of books added to the aura of danger already signified by the thick, ancient volumes on their shelves.

Willow paused at the entrance. Giles turned when he noticed that she was no longer just behind him.

"Did she speak with you?" Willow asked quietly.

"Yes," Giles nodded, needing no further elaboration to know that Willow was referring to Tara. "Earlier this morning. I have to admit that I was very wrong. I thought I could control everything for your benefit, to feed you as little information as possible to keep you safe but even I could not foresee everything that would happen to you in Europe."

"Nor could you foresee what the mirror would do to me," Willow added.

"Yes, and even then, although needed the whole truth more than ever, I thought with the merging of two personalities that you were…" Giles paused, searching for the right word.

"Unstable," Willow added helpfully.

"Unstable," Giles agreed. "But in the nicest possible way."

"It is an apt description for my state of mind, Giles," Willow admitted. "But after seeing Tara once more, I need to know what happened to her. I need the whole truth or I might do something I later regret."

"Like killing her?" Giles suggested quietly.

"No," Willow replied honestly. "I might forgive her."

Giles smiled sadly and turned away from her to consult a book he had laid open on a nearby reading table. Impatient to find her answers, Willow followed Giles into the library and immediately noticed that he had already made preparations. She thought perhaps she should feel angry that he had made the assumption that she would agree to whatever it was he had planned, but Willow was so hungry for answers she did not care.

Where there was usually a large reading table next to the staircase; it had been moved to create a clear space. The space however was not entirely empty. Someone had drawn a large chalk circle on the wooden floor and lit candles were spaced evenly around the circumference. At the centre stood a small wooden figure Willow recognised seeing in Giles's workroom. It was the carved likeness of an exceedingly rotund little man, his head completely bald, his belly protruding out from beneath the robes he wore. The most startling feature it possessed were a pair of overly large eyes, painted black with some sort of enamel. Willow had always thought it merely ornamental but now, in this setting, she could see that it was some sort of object of power. She started towards the circle to get a better look but stopped just short of entering it.

"It is alright, Willow," Giles said encouragingly, turning away from his book. "Take a seat on the floor if you will."

Willow obeyed, first stripping off her jacket and sword belt and leaving them outside the circle. She then gingerly stepped over the edge of the circle and sat, folding her legs beneath her on the hard floor. Giles followed suit but in a strange manner, whispering indecipherable words as he did so. Willow watched him with a wary expression on her face. He then folded his lanky legs onto the floor in a kneeling position and bent low over the idol in front of him.

"Giles?" Willow asked quietly as he moved to complete the preparations necessary for whatever he was doing. "What the hell are we doing?"

Giles straightened his back and looked at her with a calm expression. "Exactly what you wanted – showing you the missing pieces of the puzzle after Willow Van Helsing's death."

Willow frowned and looked from the circle of candles to the idol in front of her. "That doesn't explain the candles? Can you not simply tell me?"

"Willow, I could tell you what happened after you died but it would be from my perspective…and I of course did not experience everything that you need to know. No, I cannot simply tell you-"

"But you just said you would!" Willow protested, hearing that he was about to renege on his promise."

Giles smiled kindly at her interpretation, "I cannot tell you, I will _show_ you - everything that took place, what happened at Covasna after your death and after from the perspective of those who lived those moments in time."

Willow was decidedly suspicious, and for a good reason. "Giles, I can't handle having any more voices in my head. Two are already driving me insane…and I do not think I need to be driven any further away from sanity."

"This is not like the mirror Willow. You are not about to be invaded by another consciousness," Giles offered in a reassuring tone of voice. "It will be as a dream to you…and quite safe with me right here with you at every step."

Willow glanced back to the squat idol that sat on the floor between them, its huge eyes seeming to stare straight into her soul.

"My god Giles," Willow whispered, "I always thought that creepy little thing was a piece of junk but it is a _memoria alveus_ - a memory cache. Isn't it?"

"It is indeed," Giles appeared immensely pleased at the workings of Willow's scholarly mind.

"They are impossible to find intact," Willow reached out to touch the little figure but stopped short with a warning grunt from Giles.

"You would be surprised the baggage you acquire throughout a life as long as mine," Giles commented. "Are you ready?"

Willow nodded and drew in a deep breath as though steeling herself for what was to come. As afraid as she was, these were answers she desperately wanted and she knew that she would go to any lengths to get them. She looked into Giles's eyes and saw nothing but confident reassurance. Satisfied that he would protect her she gave him a firm nod.

"What do I need to do?" she asked determinedly.

"Nothing," Giles replied in a whisper. "We have already begun."

No sooner had he spoken his last word, Willow's eyes rolled back into her head and she slumped backwards and landed with a thud on the floor, bathed in the glow of the candles surrounding her. Giles raised his hands over her unconsciousness body, towards the ceiling, and continued his incantations in a much louder voice. His trembling tones gave way to an intense booming voice that disturbed the books in the slumber, their spines rattled in the shelves and dust was dislodged from every crevice. His was still speaking as Willow's eyelids began to flutter as though she were dreaming.

* * *

**Covasna, 1785**

Two struggling shapes were bound up with cords of air by a tall man but his attention was not on those he restrained, but instead on the body which lay on the ground several metres away from him. A blonde female holding a bloody sword in her hand stood over it in a predatory fashion while a dark-haired male approached with a broad smile on his beautiful, pale face.

"Like I said," Tara whispered as she stood over Willow's body, sightless eyes staring up at her. "I cannot be trusted."

With a contemptuous smirk she discarded the katana in the dirt at her feet and looked towards her Master as he approached. He reached out his hand towards her and she took it with one of her own.

"Tara, you are truly worthy to stand at my side," Dracula intoned solemnly. "I know how much it vexed you to slay this woman but you must understand that I cannot possibly come second to anyone in your life."

"I understand master." Tara's smile faded slightly as she stared down at the body at her feet, almost as though she only just realised the full extent of her actions, however at the feel of a slight squeeze on her hand she turned back to Dracula with the smile on her face once more. "Besides, there are other more beautiful women in the world and I can have my pick of them. In time I will not even dwell on this one skinny redhead. Even though I would have dearly liked to taste her blood."

"I will ensure you have all the women you could possibly require…but first our attentions must turn to other, far more important matters." Dracula's gaze now focused on the ground at his feet.

His Captain's skull lay where it had fallen from Willow's hand. He allowed Tara to retrieve it for him and she stooped to pick it up with all the reverence in the world. Her master took it from her hands eagerly and held it aloft.

In their fascination with the skull, neither Tara nor Dracula had remembered that Giles stood in their midst. As his attention wavered from his captives, they fell crashing to the ground and lay dazed. He spun and faced the small, pale body which lay at the feet of his enemies. At first he could not take her eyes off the sight of Willow lying motionless on the ground; he felt the unbearable agony that came with such a sight. Giles clenched his fists and transferred his gaze to the two vampires.

"Well, well, well," Dracula intoned softly. "It is none other than Rupert Giles, I believe you played all too large a role in helping that fool Conrad foil defeat my army at Covasna all those years ago...I have waited a long time for this!"

"As have I," Giles answered in a tight voice. "I would see Willow's task finished!"

Dracula laughed and stabbed at Willow's body with the toe of his boot as though she were merely rubbish. He then glanced up with a smile still lingering on his face.

"She was a brave, young fool…but a fool nevertheless."

Even as Giles felt revenge fuelled power surging through his body, his arms were roughly seized from behind. He struggled against the bonds that held him to realise it was the two vampires he had held earlier. He roared and tried to wrench himself free, cursing himself for not having the foresight to destroy them both outright rather then leave enemies at his back. A spell was on his lips but before he could complete it Tara barked one of her own and Giles's voice disappeared. Struggling and mute, Giles was helpless in the midst of the vampires. His reactions were slowed by the incredible grief he felt coursing through his body, outweighing even his anger. Willow's death had sapped his strength. Everything pointed towards Dracula succeeding in his plan. The Captain's skull would be reunited with his body and Dracula's army would rise from the earth, its flesh renewed. Giles sagged in the arms of his captors, everything was lost.

Not everything.

Giles's ears immediately pricked up at the sound of a savage, blood curdling war cry. He craned his neck to see movement across the plateau in the distance and the sight he did see gave him renewed hope. It was Abraham Van Helsing at the head of dozens of green-uniformed Austrian soldiers. The redhead raised his sabre above his head and gave the command to open fire in a voice which rang out all around them. Giles closed his eyes as hot balls of leads went whizzing around his body, plunging into the soft flesh of the vampires on either side of him.

Giles opened his eyes in the midst of the confusion. Although lead could not kill the vampires, it was distraction enough for Giles to wrench himself free from William and Angelus. He saw Dracula standing with a myriad of holes in his clothes. The lead smashing into his undead body had caused him to drop the skull and it now lay at his feet. Risking the being hit by the musket fire himself, Giles dived to the ground, feeling his bones protest as he hurled his body at a pace usually reserved for someone several hundred years younger. As he rolled, his hand closed over the skull and his fingers gripped its eye sockets. Clutching it tightly he moved past the harried vampires and towards the oncoming figure of Abraham Van Helsing.

"The skull!" Dracula roared, seeing it lost once again. "We must have the skull!"

William and Angelus snarled and urged their few surviving companions to press forward ahead of them, but they were all met with a wall of green coated men with one very angry young man at their head, legs pumping as he charged towards the two vampires. William and Angelus both hesitated, as though they could see their destruction in his flashing green eyes and allowed lesser vampires to attempt to take on his fury. Abraham did not slow and nor did the well trained soldiers did not balk at the sight of vampires with bared fangs. Instead they advanced with bayonets fixed. Each sharp point gleamed in the dull light for their bayonets were not made of any mere metal, it was silver.

With a roar, Abraham decapitated the first demon which tried to block his path. Another tried to leap over the heads of the soldiers flanked on either side of him but he was impaled on a silver spike as he flew through the air.

A searing ball of flame struck one soldier and he squealed in pain as his body was consumed. The man dropped to the ground still writhing in his death throes. Tara moved in front of her master, surging towards Giles who held the skull close to his chest. In quick succession, she hurled half a dozen more fireballs in the direction of the soldiers. A few were avoided but other struck targets and turned more men into living infernos. However, even as their comrades burned, the soldiers kept advancing.

Abraham met Angelus head on, forcing the dark haired vampire to draw his own sword to counter the powerful blows raining down upon him. Behind him, William drew his sword and leapt into the midst of the soldiers. His hesitation to throw himself against their bayonets was clearly obvious as they rallied together to form a strong wall opposite him. The clash of steel upon steel once more rang out around the battlefield.

"I think you need to be schooled in the art of magicks, foul demon!" Giles roared. Her muting spell was unable to maintain its hold on him.

As Tara prepared to face Giles, she found herself hurled backwards, struggling once again against the invisible bonds of air that he threw at her. Although she fought back, it was clear that Giles was by far the stronger magick practitioner. The bonds dissipated as she soared higher into the air and with some glee he saw her drop like a stone. She hit the earth with a thud and a small explosion of dust. He pressed towards her as she laid dazed, intent on doing what Willow could not.

Despite their combined power, it was soon apparent that there was no way for four vampires to take on the small forest of lethal spikes thrust in their direction or the fury of Abraham Van Helsing. With Dracula disappearing first, one by one they shifted into dark mist and fled the scene. Tara cast one malicious glance in Giles's direction as she picked herself up from the dust in which he had dumped her. In seconds the blonde vampire too was gone, leaving only humans standing at Covasna with Dracula's cry of frustration echoing in the rocks around them long after his physical presence was gone.

The soldiers continued to scan their environs as though they feared that more demons still lurked around them. Abraham's attention however was focused on just one thing - the motionless body of his sister. He cast his dusty sabre to one side and rushed to her side

Abraham was a soldier. He had seen death before. However nothing prepared him for seeing his beloved sister lying on the ground, her face stained with the pallor of death. There was no life whatsoever in the green eyes staring up at the grey sky above. He reached out and laid trembling fingers on her cheek to find the warmth had already fled from her flesh. It was only then that he could bring himself to look downwards and see the single bloody hole in her chest. Suddenly he flung himself backwards and away from the body as though he could not bear to be close to it. He scrambled a few feet further away on all fours with tears beginning to stream down his face. When he finally came to a halt he buried his face in his forearm which was resting heavily on his upraised knee. Although damp tears stained his cheeks, the gut wrenching pain he held within his body would not emerge. Instead it boiled and churned in the pit of his stomach. A few moments later he was forced into a kneeling position as his stomach heaved, emptying its meagre contents out onto the ground in front of him. His body continued to retch long after the last of it had been brought up.

When the heaves finally subsided he found his strength drained. His head hung downwards and he was unable even to wipe the stringy trail of spit dangling from his mouth. It was then that he heard soft footsteps on the ground just in front of him and knew it was Giles. He glanced upwards, his expression one of mad hope. Abraham scrambled to his feet in a lurching manner and surged forward to grab his mentor by the shoulders.

"Giles! You are a warlock for pity's sake, can you not do anything to save her?" Abraham pleaded in desperation, looking from Giles's grief stricken face to his dead sister and back again.

Giles was reluctant to reply at once, he had absolutely nothing to offer the young man save for pathetic words of sympathy which would offer him nothing of the hope he craved. He too felt Willow's passing keenly and he did not even trust himself to speak the words without letting tears choke his own words. Giles tried to swallow but his throat was too dry.

"I fervently wish there was something I could do, Abraham," Giles ventured quietly. "I'm sorry, she has passed…she is gone."

It broke Giles's heart to see the young man's face fall even further but it was the only truth he could offer. Abraham's hands slipped from his shoulders and he stumbled backwards a few steps, almost falling once more on his shaking legs.

As old as he was, Giles knew full well there were wild speculations of terrible and dangerous long-lost rituals which could possibly restore Willow to some form of life…but he knew he could not suggest such things to Abraham. The grief-stricken young man would go to hell and back to try and save his sister and when he failed, he would lose all hope for living even his own life. As it was, Giles could see he was in danger of fading fast into the pit of despair. He felt the solid shape of the skull beneath the crook of his arm and glanced down at it. The only thing he could do was offer Abraham a purpose.

Giles extended the skull towards Abraham and motioned for him to take it. Obviously unsure as to why he was doing so, Abraham accepted it and ran his hands over its smooth surface.

"It is a skull," Abraham pronounced in a dull voice. "It appears to be no different from others I have seen."

He extended it back towards Giles but the warlock shook his head.

"I would give it to you to protect, Abraham Van Helsing."

"My sister is dead because of this thing!" Abraham whispered in a tortured voice as he held the skull up to eye level for a closer inspection, with a grimace he forced it back towards Giles once again. "You cannot possibly ask me to retain this skull in my possession!"

"I was charged with safeguarding the skull…I failed," Giles admitted. "It is right that the task should now pass to someone else."

"I don't want it," was Abraham's sullen response.

Giles drew in a deep breath and started on a different tact. "Your sister did die because of the skull, Abraham, but it was she thought worth fighting and dying for!"

Giles could already see his words having an effect on Abraham Van Helsing. The young man knew he spoke nothing but the truth.

"No more words old man!" Abraham snapped angrily, already knowing that Willow was the sort of person who would give her life several times over to prevent such a thing falling into the hands of those who would use it for evil. "I will protect it with everything in my power!"

And with that last exclamation, Abraham slumped back to the ground. He cradled his sister in one arm and the skull in the other as he succumbed to great, racking sobs.

* * *

Abraham Van Helsing was a broken man. Just yesterday, with the sky dark with thunder clouds, he had buried his sister in Hampshire. The last remaining and most cherished member of his family was gone and he was left alone with nothing but his grief. He had not lingered long at her graveside, not being able to bear the sight of her name etched into the marble and the tragically short span of time between her date of birth and of death. There were few mourners to offer him words of condolence, there were people who knew Willow, Giles, Christopher Croft, their servants and then there were distant family members whom the Van Helsing siblings rarely saw. Abraham stayed long enough for propriety and then slipped away quietly to return to Hagley Park one last time. Willow loved the house so, and it was here she had spent the happiest times in her short life. Abraham did not visit the house to reminisce however, he had just one task to perform and he only stayed long enough to ensure it was done properly.

He had then returned to London and the familiar surroundings. Although he needed to be at Gordon Square to feel close to Willow, he also could not bear to be there. Everything he looked at or touched reminded him of his vivacious sister and he found himself constantly close to tears.

For an entire week following Willow's funeral, Abraham had done little but line in his bed and stare at the ceiling, sleeping only when his eyelids grew too heavy too hold open and eating only when his stomach protested with violent hunger pains.

It was a very surprised Samuel who saw his employer wandering throughout the house one morning. His greeting was barely returned and offer of assistance was politely declined. He then saw Abraham disappear into the library, obviously heading for the room he and Willow had used more often than any other - their training room.

Abraham's brief interlude with Samuel barely even registered as he moved through the motions of opening the secret door and plodding down the circular stairs. However, once in the training room his dulled senses came alive as though they had been renewed. As always, the room reeked of old sweat, metal and other odours too strange to be identified by one whiff. It was shrouded in darkness save for a single torch burning in a bracket at the centre of the wall beside him. It was in front of this wall that Abraham stopped and knelt down in front of an altar of sorts, a low wooden platform upon which had been placed a low display stand intended for supporting a sword. Mounted on the stand was the unmistakable shape of Willow's favourite weapon…her katana.

Its grip was sweat stained and the steel of its blade no longer gleamed, its once beautiful folds obscured by the dried blood clinging to its length. With shaking fingers, he tentatively reached towards the blade but stopped just short of touching the dried blood. Instead, his fingers folded into a tightly clenched fist which he pressed against his heart. He then bowed his head and closed his eyes; the sight of Willow's blood on her own beloved blade caused his own blood to boil with anger.

Abraham knew exactly what had taken place at Covasna. As his grief had subsided on the battlefield, his mind had cleared enough for him to ask Giles who had been responsible for Willow's death. When the reluctant answer came, he had not been surprised that it was the demon.

Abraham had found the purpose he would live for…but it was not the one Giles had sought to bestow on him by giving him the skull.

"I swear, Willow," he whispered fiercely as hot tears squeezed beneath his eyelids. "I swear that creature will pay for what it did to you. I will use everything in my power to make it suffer. By the time I allow it to die, I will have extracted the just price for our retribution. I swear it!"


	27. An Unhealthy Revenge

**Chapter Twenty-Seven  
An Unhealthy Revenge**

_**1790**_

It was not easy for a man as handsome and as eligible as Abraham Van Helsing to remain unnoticed in a corner of a large celebration. However, for the past hour he had been content to observe from a distance the other revellers as they celebrated the wedding of Christopher Croft to a lovely but otherwise unremarkable young woman. The wedding was long overdue in Abraham's opinion. Croft had courted the wench for three years and had been engaged to her for a further year before finally deciding that she was indeed worth marrying.

The whole affair was relatively small. A man in Christopher's line of work did not amass many friends and he had very little in the way of family. However, those that did attend the earlier service and now the celebration held in the ballroom at Montagu House were a lively sort. The room felt just as busy as if there had been a hundred people in attendance rather than half that.

If Abraham was to turn his observations on himself, he would see that he had changed very little in the five years that had passed since his sister's death. He was just as tall and broad shouldered as ever, with not a speck of grey showing in his neatly queued red hair. The finely tailored, elegant cut to his clothes possibly even served to make him even more handsome than he had been when he did not care for such fripperies. He sipped the brandy he held in one hand and stared over the rim towards the man of the moment - Christopher Croft dancing with his bride. Although she was unremarkable, Abraham did think the new Mrs Croft was a least pleasant to look at and Christopher had done well. While the two of them had never become overly good friends due to their rather different personalities, Abraham did feel a certain kinship with the man given that he had saved his life many a time and vice versa. His gaze travelled past Christopher and fell upon a rather vibrant looking blonde woman who was dancing near Christopher and Sarah Croft. The corners of his mouth curled up into the trademark Van Helsing smile, a definite smirk of appreciation. Her blonde curls cascaded down her back, framing a face that was more than pleasant to look at with flashing brown eyes and full red lips. His gaze then moved downwards and he caressed her full and creamy cleavage with his eyes. He was about to set down his drink and move to steal her away from the dull bore who was currently dancing with her when he caught sight of Rupert Giles out of the corner of his eye.

Much like Abraham himself, Giles was trying to remain unnoticed in the crowd. The warlock looked more than a little uncomfortable in such a large public gathering. He was wedged into a corner, almost standing behind a large pedestal with a bust of some dead Roman mounted on top. Abraham found himself smirking as he noted that being over five hundred years old did not improve one's social skills. He paused only long enough to pour a generous glass of brandy and top up his own before crossing the floor to join his friend and mentor.

"You look like you could use one of these." Abraham held the glass out for Giles to take.

Giles accepted it but did not take a sip. He appeared almost embarrassed that he had been noticed and stepped out from his corner. He managed to incline his head towards the newly married couple dancing in the centre of the room. "Is that not a fine sight…especially for two bachelors such as us?"

Abraham took a long swallow of the drink he held in his own hand. Since Willow's passing, the relationship between him and Giles had not strengthened, if anything they had grown somewhat distant. The two of them did not often talk of matters outside those related to their work.

"It is indeed, although I would not wish to exchanges places with Christopher for all the tea in China."

"You are happy being alone then?" Giles inquired, quite curious at the tone in Abraham's voice.

The redheaded man turned to him with a knowing glint in his eye. "I am never alone Giles, just unmarried…and that is a state of things that I enjoy very much. Why be shackled to one woman when you can have your pick of many?"

Giles awkwardly set down the brandy on the corner of the pedestal beside him. "Shackled seems an odd choice of descriptor for a marriage. Surely you should not speak unless you have experienced-"

"Well, I have had relations with a good number of married women who agree with me all too readily," Abraham interrupted with a harsh laugh and another sip of brandy. "They cannot escape their shackles and make for my bed fast enough."

Giles coughed uncomfortably. He was grateful he had not just taken a sip of his drink as he knew he would have made a frightful mess as it sprayed from his mouth. He turned his head to study the younger man but he already knew that there was no trace of jest in Abraham's voice. It was only then that Giles saw the predatory glint in his eye as he watched a young woman on the dance floor.

Given that he himself was somewhat of an expert where longevity was concerned, Giles thought that Abraham had aged rather well. However, although he was still a strikingly handsome man, he had changed. Abraham's face was harsher than it had been when his sister was alive. Gone were the traces of mirth and humour which had often lingered there. Even in the midst of Croft's wedding celebration, Giles suddenly felt saddened to realise that he knew the younger man only as an acquaintance or work colleague and no longer as a friend. Giles did not think that this was a fault on Abraham's part; instead he berated himself for not spending more time with him in the years since Willow's death.

Giles steered the subject away from the uncomfortable subject of Abraham's affairs. "How goes your continued search for the demon?"

Almost immediately Abraham's green eyes took on a steely glint and Giles wondered if he had brought up the wrong topic for what was supposed to be a joyous occasion.

"The treacherous demon-bitch has gone to ground, since that sighting in Paris last November. I have lost its trail," Abraham growled and drained the last swallow in his glass. "Truly this is a vexing state of affairs. It has been five years since I swore to destroy it and all I have done is let it lead me on a wild goose chase around Europe, catching nary but a whiff of her foul odour."

"Well rest assured, Abraham, there is only so far she can run," Giles added helpfully, feeling as though he finally needed the drink Abraham had brought him. "Sooner or later she will make a mistake. After all, vampires are not subtle creatures."

"Dracula managed to avoid you for hundreds of years, Giles," Abraham was obviously immune to Giles's optimism. "Unlike you I do not have hundreds of years at my disposal. I must have my revenge within the short time that has been allocated to me."

Giles sighed. Although he too still mourned for the lovely young woman they had both lost, he was not about to let the rest of his life be consumed by the search for her murderer. Conversely Abraham did not seem to share his opinion. It was obvious that he believed a life without revenge was a life wasted.

"I think Willow would want you to live your life, to have a family," Giles began awkwardly.

Abraham seized up the glass that Giles had set down moments ago and took a mighty swallow. "Giles, the cock-sucking bitch murdered her. How could I ever concentrate on anything as mundane as a wife and children while that demon is out there roaming free? I could not. It is out there somewhere, probably laughing at me and spitting on the beloved memory of my sister!"

Abraham drew in a deep breath as though he finally realised that he was allowing himself to get swept off and carried towards the land of fanatics who could think of nothing but their vendettas. He drained the last swallow in the second glass and finally managed to calm himself.

With a shaking hand Abraham set the glass back down and turned to Giles with a forced smile on his face. "So Giles…how was your week?"

"Well yes, I did have a rather interesting week as a matter of fact," Giles began, pleased to be able to steer Abraham away from topics which only served to anger him. "I have been working on a new invention for some time and I think I may have finally perfected a working prototype. Still very much a prototype of course but I am rather excited, you see it is a circlet of sorts, it goes around the neck and suppresses the magickal talents of the wearer. A very dangerous piece of work but that is what makes it so exciting! I think if I can tune it correctly we may have a very useful apparatus on our hands…"

Giles continued on for several more minutes in the same enthusiastic manner before he finally turned and realised he was alone. He glanced out onto the dance floor and saw Abraham whirling around the dance floor with the young blonde woman he had been eyeing earlier in his arms and a smile on his face as though he hadn't a care in the world. To the rest of the world it was a convincingly picture of a man in the prime of his life, Giles knew otherwise. It was an image carefully cultivated to conceal the seething anger that lay beneath, an anger Giles was increasingly beginning to think would destroy him.

Giles set his lips into a tight line and went to find himself a drink.

* * *

_**1812**_

Young Benjamin Croft tried in vain to stifle a wide yawn but failed miserably and instead was forced to hide it behind his hand. He tried to erase it from his face before the tall, broad-shouldered man walking in front of him could turn around and catch him in the act. The young man managed to return his face to a mask of alertness before such a thing could happen.

Ben could hardly be blamed for being tired. He had not gained a wink of sleep the night before as he paced anxiously outside the room as his wife struggled to give birth to their first child. A small smile crossed his face at the thought of the fine baby boy, christened Jeremiah Christopher. His only regret was that his father had not lived long enough to see his first grandchild. Christopher Croft had keeled over unexpectedly a few months earlier and was dead before he hit the floor. It had been mercifully quick but Ben felt his loss keenly - although in truth his father had lost much of his sparkle ten years ago when his wife passed away after an extended illness. With the loss of his parents, Ben felt it all the more necessary to keep close his wife and now, his son.

With a newborn son, Ben knew he could had excused himself from patrolling the streets of London this evening, but Giles was travelling in places unknown and as capable as the man striding ahead of him was, age was creeping up on him.

Ben studied Abraham Van Helsing as he walked through the darkness with a powerful stride. He was however, growing somewhat thinner as the years went by. The red hair Ben remembered seeing as a boy was now all but lost to grey. His face was weathered from outdoor life, bearing a good number of craggy wrinkles. Although he had known Abraham Van Helsing for as long as he could remember he knew very little of the man that lay behind the public facade. Ben admired and respected the man immensely, but while Abraham was more than willing to impart all his knowledge to him regarding vampires and demons, he would say little of his personal life. He consistently seemed to have a young woman on his arm, even as he grew older, but it was rarely the same woman twice and they were never introduced to his colleagues. What little he had gleaned about Abraham Van Helsing, had been learned from Giles. It was from Giles he learned that Abraham had once had a sister, although he then made the mistake of asking Abraham himself about his long-lost sibling and he had been met with a stony wall of silence.

The only thing Ben did know for sure, was that Abraham's sister had to be connected in some way to the vampire he had spent much of his life searching for. In the same way Giles searched for Dracula, Abraham searched for a female vampire he only ever referred to as 'the demon.' Ben was under the impression that this search had consumed almost Abraham's entire life. Given the joy he derived from time spent with his own family, Ben often thought that the older man should just let his vendetta go after all this time…although he would never voice this opinion openly for all he would receive in return would be an angry snarl. He knew determination when he saw it, and Abraham Van Helsing was beyond determined.

Ben admired and respected Abraham Van Helsing…but he had never liked him.

_He's just too goddamn obsessed with his bloody demon_. Ben narrowed his eyes as he stared at the man's back. _That and the fact that he's an arrogant, grumpy old bastard_.

Ben felt moisture tickle the back of his neck and he glanced upwards to feel rain on his face. His countenance soured as he realised that this was not going to be a pleasant evening's hunting. He began to wonder whether he should have stayed home with Abigail and Jeremiah after all...in fact, he wondered whether he should opt out of the family trade and acquire himself some honest skills, like book-binding or perhaps even medicine.

It soon became clear, as the pair entered streets which were normally a veritable paradise for demons, that the creatures of the night did not much prefer the weather either and had obviously chosen to remain indoors. Even as Abraham remained alert just in front of him, Ben found his shoulders sagging.

Although Ben knew better than to let his mind wander while on a hunt, he suddenly walked into something solid. Even as he was fumbling for the crossbow strapped to his back he realised that the solid object was Abraham's back. The older man was standing rock still, his gaze directed towards a nearby rooftop. Ben followed his gaze and frowned. Silhouetted against the already dark skyline was a figure cast completely in shadow. He could make out absolutely no details save for a swirling cloak which undulated around the figure. At his side however, Abraham was tense, as though poised for a fight.

"Van Helsing, what is it?" Ben demanded, slowly bringing his crossbow around in order to load it in front of him.

"Stay behind me," Abraham commanded in a tight, urgent voice.

Ben could not see what had Abraham so rattled, although granted a shadowy figure standing on a rooftop was usually evil, there were two of them and the figure had lost any element of surprise. Or so Ben thought. A split second later the figure disappeared, only to re-materialise a moment later directly between the two men. Although he felt no blow strike him, Ben suddenly found himself flying backwards through the air. He continued in a straight line until he slammed into a wall. His crossbow clattered to the ground and he fell with the wind knocked out of him.

Ben lay with his cheek pressed against the wet cobbles beneath him, the rain continuing to fall down and seep through the coat he wore. Struggling to focus himself, he lay listening to the harsh voices he could hear being traded across the street.

"And just when I thought you were never going to show your face again!" Ben heard Abraham growl.

"You think I am afraid of you?" It was a woman's throaty voice, unlike anything Ben had ever heard before.

"Well I seem to recall you and your Master suffering a rather embarrassing defeat at my hands the last time we met."

"And I seem to recall running your sister through with her own sword." Those words were followed by a mocking laugh.

Ben had finally managed to drag himself up into a kneeling position as he heard those last words. He needed no more information to know who Abraham was facing. It was the demon that had killed Willow Van Helsing. He peered through the darkness and falling rain to see her outline but he could make out little more than a dark, cloaked shape. However he could see long hair whipping around her face, a face that was pale and shining even with no moonlight.

"Where is the skull, Abraham?" the demon demanded, her voice shrill with unconcealed longing.

"Why have you waited so long to ask me?" Abraham seemed in no hurry to answer the vampire's question as he circled her warily.

She cackled. "The time is nigh and you are weakened by old age…the once strong Abraham Van Helsing is now but a shadow of his former self."

Abraham narrowed his eyes. "Why have you come alone? Surely a matter as important as the skull would require the attentions of more than one lone vampire?"

The vampire snarled. "My reasons are my own, Van Helsing!"

Observing the scene, Ben wondered why Abraham made no move towards the stake concealed in his coat, or the sword belted at his waist. Instead he just kept baiting the creature, circling it even as it came closer. Ben was just about to shout a warning when the creature surged forward, its hand shooting out to seize Abraham by the neck. With inhuman strength, it threw Abraham back against the wall behind him and held him there.

"Where is the skull?" it yelled manically.

"You kill me and you will never know," Abraham threatened.

She seized Abraham by his chin and slammed his head back against the wall before repeating, "Where is the skull?"

Ben did not wait to see if Abraham would answer; instead he dragged himself all the way up onto his feet and moved forward, stumbling awkwardly at first before managing to break into a run. He drew one of his own stakes and lunged at the demon's apparently unprotected back. Even as he brought the stake downwards, she turned and whipped out her free hand, lashing Ben across his cheek. He reeled momentarily but managed to collect himself quickly and lash out with his own fist, catching her on the side of her head. She screamed in frustration and dashed Abraham to one side. Ben saw the man fly past his vision but he kept both of his own eyes focused on the demon. Now that her full attention was focused on him only, he could see her features clearly. Although her piercing blue eyes were wild and crazed, she was also strikingly beautiful. The hair that whipped about her face was so pale it was almost white. However, Ben had seen beautiful demons before and knew not to be fouled into thinking them less powerful for it. He watched her closely, trying to sense if she would use more of her foul magicks on him.

She bared her shining white teeth in what Ben supposed was a smile as she circled him. He kept the stake out in front of him, ready to strike at any moment. When she eventually did lift her arm to throw him backwards once more he was ready. He whirled around, low to the ground and brought his fist up before she could complete her movement, driving it directly into her stomach. As she stumbled backwards he brought the stake downwards once again. Both her hands shot out and caught his wrist, driving the stake backwards and away from her chest. Ben stumbled, his wrist was twisted at an awkward angle and he dropped the stake as he yelped in pain. She locked her icy fingers around his neck and drove him against the wall, even as he fumbled for the dagger he wore at his waist he found his windpipe being crushed in her terrible grip.

Even as he struggled to breathe he saw Abraham rising to his feet behind them both. Ben also saw his crossbow at the other man's feet. Struggling valiantly, Ben managed to tear himself free of the vampire's grasp and seize one of her wrists. As they struggled she stared into his eyes and there he found absolutely no mercy, nothing but pure, undiluted evil. .

"Van Helsing!" Ben cried, struggling against the vampire as she tried to wrench her wrist free from his grip. "For god's sake man, just shoot the bitch!"

Ben waited expectedly to hear the quick flight of a bolt, the thud as it struck the demon and then the feel of her crumbling to dust in his arms. However, despite his pleadings Abraham did not loosen a crossbow bolt at the demon's unprotected back and the only thing he did feel was an agonisingly sharp pain in his midsection. He immediately let go of the demon's wrist just as she stabbed forward again with her other hand. Ben knew he ought to be screaming, the pain was so intense but his jaw slackened and no sound emerged.

The demon then stepped back with a smile on her face and Ben glanced downwards. He clutched at the hilt of his own dagger protruding from his body with clumsy fingers. As he sank slowly to his knees, he saw a blurry Abraham moving behind the vampire with something held in both of his hands that was most definitely not a crossbow. Before the vampire could turn, something was snapped around her neck. A spilt second after Ben heard the audible click; he heard a blood curdling scream from the vampire. She lurched in a drunken-like state and tried to tear it off. With her attention fully focused on the circlet, Abraham lashed out and struck her over the head. She too slumped to the ground.

With watery eyes Ben tried to focus on Abraham but he found he could not, even as the man knelt at his side and cradled his sagging body.

"You will be fine, son," Abraham spoke quietly, gently.

Ben knew that was far from the case, he could already feel the life ebbing quickly from his body. A part of him wanted to curse Abraham Van Helsing to the very depths of hell for sacrificing his life for the sake of his revenge, but all he could think about was his family.

"Please…see that Abigail and my son are cared for…will you promise me that?" Ben pleaded even as the edges of his vision. "Please?"

"I will," Abraham replied quickly.

Ben clutched at the front of the man's coat in order to demand a firmer response but it was too late. He gasped his last breath, hoping fervently that the bastard would fulfil his promise before he gasped his last.

Abraham sighed sadly. He deeply regretted the brave young man's death. He believed he had the situation under control and cursed himself for missing the knife in the creature's hand. Still, as he gently laid Ben's body down on the rain soaked street, he knew that the young man had not died for nothing. The proof of that lay on the ground behind him. He stood and turned to gaze upon the crumpled, writhing form of the demon that had been Tara Maclay. She pawed weakly at the metal collar that encased her neck but of course found no clasp to undo. Nor would she. The collar would bind her magickal powers until Abraham chose to remove it…and that was something he would never do.

Abraham closed his eyes and tilted his face upwards. The rain beat down on his face and he sighed deeply. Finally, after all this time he had the demon at his mercy, after years of waiting for his revenge it was shortly to be his. He spread his arms wide as though embracing the icy pellets that pelted his skin.

In the midst of this strange but simple act of celebration, Abraham Van Helsing suddenly realised that he was laughing.

* * *

"Mr Van Helsing sir, I am not quite sure I understand the exact nature of your problem."

Abraham paused for a moment after activating the lever which triggered the door to his underground training room. He regarded the wiry, nervous little man standing in front of him through narrowed eyes. Although Abraham had extensive contacts in all the right places, finding an adept magic practitioner willing to help him had been something of a challenge. All his sources indicated that Rupert Giles was the man he wanted…but Abraham could not use Giles, not for what he was about to do. John Minto adjusted his glasses and stared back at Abraham, hardly convincing as a warlock of the same calibre as the librarian. Abraham sighed and entered the narrow cylindrical passage, leaving Minto to follow him, still waiting for his explanation.

Much like the librarian, Minto also wore eyeglasses…but that was as far as the similarities went. He was exceptionally short and thin, so thin it looked as though a stiff breeze would blow him away. His worn suit hung on his frame, just like the way his skin hung from his face beneath his wiry black hair.

"Mr Van Helsing?" Minto repeated as the pair of them descended the stairs and entered the training room.

Abraham walked purposefully straight towards a set of heavily laden bookshelves, much like those that had swung inwards to reveal the door they had entered a few moments earlier. He then indeed triggered a second door.

"Just what the devil is this place?" Minto demanded as he watched the section of bookshelf in front of him swing inwards to reveal a dark, narrow corridor.

"Mr Minto," Abraham began as he moved into the darkness. "I have brought you here because I would like you to do something for me."

Minto stared at Abraham's back, now shrouded in darkness as he stopped a short way down the corridor. He studied the scene in front of him with fear written all over his face. When he finally started after Abraham, his fear was reflected in his hesitant steps. As he moved closer he saw a doorway to one side, iron bars across the entrance He peered into the cell, for that was all it could be called, but saw nothing but darkness. Beside him Abraham Van Helsing was as still as a statue and there was no sound save for his own hoarse breathing. A chill ran down his spine, something did not feel right about this.

As Minto was about to turn and leave a shape suddenly threw itself against the iron bars. The silence in the corridor was rent by the clang of the door on its hinges and a chilling snarl from the creature that emerged from the darkness in such a startling manner.

Reacting instantly, Minto let out an undignified yelp and pressed his back to the wall behind him. The still snarling creature lunged for him through the bars, fingers outstretched like claws. Her lips peeled back from her teeth to reveal a pair of what were unmistakably fangs. The snarl became a drawn out hiss and Minto contemplated running from the corridor. However, when it became apparent that escape was impossible, he managed to relax enough to gasp out a few words,

"Good god man, why are you keeping a vampire in your cellar?"

He turned to Abraham and saw the man had not moved a muscle since the demon rattled the bars of its cage. However, Minto soon realised that Abraham had moved but it was only the small but telling movements of his facial muscles that betrayed his emotions. The lines around both his eyes and upon his brow were deep furrows, his white lips were set into a tight line. Minto feared to reach out towards him lest he take sudden offence and lash out. Instead he turned back to the demon.

If Abraham's behaviour was strange then the demon's was just as confusing. As she completely ignored Minto to focus on Abraham, he was able to study the blonde vampire. Even with her white skin stretched over her skull and her hair lank about her face, she was hauntingly beautiful. Her intense blue eyes were focused on Abraham in an expression that went beyond hate. She gripped the bars in front of her with pale fingers as though she might tear them down. It was as Minto was studying her that he noticed a smooth collar of engraved silver encircling her throat. Although he could see no clasp or any other way to remove it, this had apparently not stopped the demon from trying. The skin beneath the collar was angry red and bore deep, bloody scratches and ugly welts.

"Abraham Van Helsing, have you finally found the courage to destroy me?" she purred in a low, sultry tone. "Or do you seek instead to find new methods of torture? I must say that so far you have been making a poor show of it indeed. Although restraining my magicks with this collar was a rather clever idea, keeping me locked up in your basement hardly fulfils your task of making me suffer."

As Abraham maintained his stoic silence, Minto pressed further for answers. "You did not answer my question Van Helsing, why are you keeping a vampire in your cellar?"

Abraham finally drew his attention away from the demon in the cell and turned to Minto. "This is the vampire that murdered my sister."

The vampire responded with an immediate throaty laugh that had once perhaps been beautiful. "To kill someone in the heat of battle is not murder!"

His fury suddenly unleashed, Abraham whirled on the creature, his fist in the air. "You gained her trust and stabbed her in the back you foul piece of filth, if that is not the very definition of murder then I do not know what is!"

The creature shrugged as though she thought perhaps Abraham might have made his point. The contented smile did not leave her face however.

Minto nodded, he had to clear the lump in his throat before he could continue, "I have heard your sister was a brave woman, although I am too young to have known her personally. It is a testament to her that she is still sorely missed amongst our small community."

"She is sorely missed indeed," the vampire commented unexpectedly in a drawn out voice. "Even undead I still yearn for her touch." She sighed heavily and pressed her forehead against the bars as she stared directly at Minto. "I thought that spending eternity as the Queen of the damned at Dracula's side was worth killing her but now I fervently wish I had turned her. Now that would have made eternity much more fun!"

The vampire closed her eyes and licked her lips as though savouring a taste on them.

Minto screwed up his face in disgust. "I can understand why you would want this demon to suffer but how can you possibly make her suffer enough to feel remorse for what she has done?"

"Ah, that dear Mr Minto, is where you will lend your services," Abraham said quietly, a fierce light burning in his eyes.

"Mr Van Helsing?" Minto was only too happy to offer his services to a man of Abraham Van Helsing's stature but he was distinctly unnerved by the sights he had witnessed and did not even want to imagine what was in store for the vampire who murdered Willow Van Helsing.

Abraham turned to regard the demon that had once been Tara Maclay through cool green eyes, his sister's eyes, and then whispered in a terribly determined voice, "You will restore the demon's soul."


	28. The Tortured Soul

**Chapter Twenty-Eight  
The Tortured Soul**

_**1812**_

The silence that filled the tiny corridor following Abraham's statement was complete. No one made a sound, not even Minto who was holding his breath. The vampire stared at Abraham as though her eyes were daggers and she was stabbing him repeatedly. Abraham appeared as though he were congratulating himself on formulating a plan of unsurpassed brilliance.

It was Minto who broke the silence, emitting a small gasp that gradually gave way to rapid breathing. So panicked was his struggle for breath, he was in danger of passing out and had to hold onto the wall to steady himself. When he finally calmed down, he found Abraham still standing quite still with a calm expression on his face. This was the complete opposite of how Minto felt.

"Are you deluded, Van Helsing?" Minto demanded. "That spell has been lost to the ages…and for good reason! A vampire with a soul is truly a godforsaken creature - an abomination!"

"There was one who had the spell," Abraham replied quietly, with one long look at the demon. He turned and made his way from the corridor out into the training room. He stopped next to a table laden with books, glassware and a package carefully wrapped in leather. "And it was my good fortune that he also saw fit to give me this."

With great reverence, Abraham untied the cords that held the parcel closed and then peeled back the leather to reveal the small object held within. Minto gasped when Abraham withdrew a shard of blue crystal the size of his hand. The shard was transparent blue the colour of sapphires, smooth on all sides save one where it appeared to have been torn off from a much larger crystal. He held it out to Minto but the small man shook his head furiously and refused to accept it.

"The price?" Minto whispered in horror. "You cannot possibly ask me to pay-"

"I have already paid the price," Abraham replied simply. "And in time, it will claim me but it was a price I was more than willing to pay in order to obtain this."

Abraham pressed the crystal forward again and Minto drew in a deep breath. This time he reached out to receive it, his hands trembling as he did so. As soon as his fingers closed over its surface, his entire body jolted as though he had just received an electric shock. His initial fear subsided and he fondled the crystal almost lovingly between his fingers.

As he watched Minto with the crystal, Abraham saw the man begin to transform slowly but surely. His hair was no longer so wiry, his skin no longer sagged from his bones and instead appeared firm and young. Minto's eyes shone with an intense brilliance and excitement where he had seen only fear up until this point. Upon witnessing its power, Abraham was satisfied that the crystal could indeed do what he had been promised it would do.

Minto finally tore his gaze away from the crystal. "Van Helsing, I am curious, the price he asked of you…what was it?"

"Enough questions, Mr Minto," Abraham spoke quietly, shards of sadness piercing his deep voice. "You will be handsomely compensated for your services so I expect nothing but your full co-operation. Will you assist me?"

"V-very well," Minto whispered, clutching the two objects to his chest, he managed a nervous smile. "Being a magick practitioner, or at least an honest one, is not as well paid a job as you m-might think so I suppose I could certainly use the money. My preparations will take me some time however."

"Obviously," Abraham replied, "You will find everything you need on the table just beyond the door…call me when you are ready and I will bring the demon."

Minto nodded quickly and ducked his head. He then backed out of the narrow corridor, refusing to turn his back on the demon even though her magicks were bound and her physical body was behind bars. With the little man gone, Abraham turned his full attention to the pale face that stared at him from behind the bars of her prison.

If the demon had been hostile earlier, she was now livid with anger upon hearing of her intended fate. She gripped the bars in front of her with bone white fingers as though she were trying to tear them down with her mind. Abraham knew she could do nothing of the sort and taunted her further by leaning casually against the wall behind him.

"I will take much pleasure in ripping your throat open, Abraham Van Helsing," she snarled, rattling the bars of her cage.

Abraham coughed out a small laugh. "Ah, yes, considering you are in there and I am out here I would say your plan is flawed, demon!"

She screamed in a terrible sound of rage and frustration. Just beyond the corridor Abraham heard Minto take fright and drop something that shattered on the ground.

"You think that pathetic fool will succeed in restoring Tara Maclay's soul?" Tara growled, thrusting her chin forward defiantly, "He will fail and you will be forced to destroy me!"

Nonplussed, Abraham cocked his head to one side in an expression of curiosity. "Answer me this, why did you come searching for the skull alone?"

The demon appeared disgusted. "You think I would actually answer that?"

He shrugged. "I do not care one way or the other. I just thought it was an incredibly foolish move on your part to come alone when you could have had several minions at your back." Abraham frowned suspiciously as he saw an uncomfortable expression settle on its face and he had a nagging revelation. "Unless of course the whole point was to succeed on your own? Ahhh, I see now. Your plan was to deliver the skull to your master single-handed…or perhaps even seize it for yourself without his knowledge."

It squirmed and released the bars, backing away into the shadows.

Abraham smirked. "That is the problem with power, once you have had a small taste you will forever crave more."

"You know naught of the matters of which you speak!" the vampire responded in a sullen voice.

Abraham felt an immense amount of satisfaction when he realised that all its words and chin thrusting added up to naught but empty blustering. He could see straight past this façade to the terror that lay beneath at just the mere thought of being ensouled. Even if Minto failed to restore her soul, the whole endeavour would not be a complete waste of time. However, Abraham knew that this terror was nothing compared to what she would feel if the spell was a success. He could already hear the demon's screams of pain and anguish echoing within the confines of its tiny cell.

The demon had one last card to play, and it played it to the best of her ability. When it emerged from the shadows there was a vicious smile on its face.

"Abraham Van Helsing you are a fool if you believe this little scheme of yours will work, even in the event that you do restore her soul, you will find yourself completely unable to lift a finger against the woman you once loved." The demon paused as she watched a flicker of emotion pass over Abraham's face. It smiled. "Ah, you think she did not know about your little infatuation. How could she not with the way you doted on her? She could see your eyes roaming her body, wanting what was not yours."

Abraham swallowed, blocking her words from his mind. _She is trying to provoke you…you must not listen, think only of Willow and what this creature did to her!_

"You may have a soul but you will never again be Tara Maclay," Abraham found it difficult to even choke out her name in the presence of the demon, but he continued strongly, "I have absolutely no qualms whatsoever about your torture."

"You will cave in the moment she starts screaming," the demon predicted, it slid a red tongue across pale lips. "And I think that you are not man enough to take what I know you want…to finally lie with the woman you never stopped loving."

"Silence!" Abraham growled.

"Would raping her truly fulfil your promise to make me suffer?"

Abraham cried out in frustration and slammed his fist against the bars of her cell door. Such was his ferocity that the creature stumbled backwards and almost fell to the floor.

"You are a foul, despicable creature!" Abraham hissed, spittle erupting from his mouth. "Enjoy your last moments of guilt-free existence…for very shortly you will know exactly what it feels like to have killed the one you love and I will be there to watch that moment of realisation dawn on your face!"

Abraham turned and strode out of the corridor with the obvious intention of going to check on Minto's preparations, this concealed his real intention however which was hiding the small traces of doubt which had crept into his well laid plan. Although he had been anticipating the demon's ensoulment for decades, he truly could not say what his reaction would be when happened. For all intensive purposes, the creature would once again be Tara Maclay, or as good as…and Tara Maclay was not the person who murdered his sister. Abraham exited the corridor and shut the bookcase behind him; he sat down heavily in a nearby chair and watched as Minto sifted through various books, furiously scribbling notes without looking up once.

After a few moments of watching the man at work, he shifted his gaze to the center of the room and the well worn training pads that covered the floor. It required hardly any imagination at all for him to recall Willow lightly stepping across those pads, her feet moving gracefully as she worked on her footwork or learnt a new technique. Her red hair would be bound up out of her face, but small strands were always bound to escape and caress her pale cheek. She would laugh all too easily, especially if the butt of her humour was her brother. When Abraham re-opened his eyes he realised that he was crying.

His mind was set. He would not allow himself to be swayed by any tricks the creature could play on his mind. Willow deserved retribution…and she would get it.

* * *

_Thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump..._

The steady sound was overwhelming, filling her entire head as though trying to make her skull crack and burst. She opened her mouth as she struggled for a breath but found even more pain. Air burned her throat as it forced its way down to her chest. As her lungs inflated she desperately needed to scream but she collapsed into a coughing fit. She lay on the floor, her back arched as she struggled in the simple act of breathing.

_It is breath, you need it to live._ She paused in her thoughts, struggling to make sense of a sudden realisation_. If I need it, then why does it feel so foreign?_

Gradually the breaths did come easier and she tried to rise once more, instinctively feeling as though there was something or someone near her that she needed to escape from but she could see nothing in front of her eyes but white spots. Panic gripped her, whatever it was, it meant to harm her!

It was too much, everything slowly faded to black and with a sigh she slipped backwards, unconscious before her head hit the floor.

As Tara finally lay motionless on the floor in front of him, Abraham stared in disbelief. He whirled around to face Minto and saw that the small man had collapsed in the middle of the training room, still surrounded by his chalk scribblings. The crystal in front of him bore a thick crack and from it blood seeped in large quantities, creating a pool around his semi-conscious form. Abraham picked the dazed man up by his shoulders and held him upright. As he shook the poor man he gradually came to his senses, enough at least for Abraham to demand answers.

"I didn't tell you to bloody kill her!" Abraham growled, shaking the still limp Minto.

Minto eyes opened, at first they were out of focus but eventually he brought them to bear on Abraham Van Helsing. He glanced first from the angry face in front of him and then down to the limp form of the vampire.

Minto drew in a deep breath in the face of Abraham's anger and stated the obvious, "Mr Van Helsing, she was already dead."

Abraham let out another growl. "You know what I mean, you fool!"

"I-I do not know," Minto stuttered, slowly edging towards the vampire. His eyes widened when he saw her chest rising and falling. "But it appears that she is breathing."

"Your powers of observation astound me!" Abraham replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "You haven't just restored her soul…you've restored her…humanity?"

At that point, Abraham's jaw dropped and his face sagged in horror. If his first impressions were correct and the idiot Minto had somehow managed to restore the demon to the person she once was, all his careful plans and sacrifices would have been for nothing. As twisted and revenge-driven as he was even Abraham could not see himself torturing a young woman - one he had once loved.

"Perhaps not," Minto whispered quietly as he studied her unconscious face.

Slowly he crossed the floor of the training room and selected a small dagger from the weapons rack. He then tentatively moved closer to the unconscious form. With a trembling hand, Minto drew the knife across his forearm and blood very quickly welled from the shallow cut, running over his skin. He knelt and held out his arm towards the vampire. There was no change in her condition as the first few drops of blood splashed onto her closed lips. However, he gently parted them with his fingers and let the blood fall directly into her mouth. Barely a split second later her back arched and she sat up with a start. Minto had to scrambled backwards to avoid clashing their heads. She stared at him through wide eyes for a few seconds before desperately scrambling away on all fours. Seconds later she was crouched under the book laden table with her back to the two men.

Abraham hunkered down stared at the demon huddled beneath the table, as her back was to him, he could clearly see the rise and fall of her shoulders as she gasped for air. While Minto's little experiment had made it clear that she was still a vampire, clearly not all had gone to plan.

He swivelled on his heels and faced Minto once more but kept one wary eye on the vampire. Even in her current state, he did not want to let her out of his sight. The thin man was clearly struggling to stay upright. The effects of the crystal were long gone; instead he appeared as haggard and drained as he had when Abraham had first met him.

"Just what did you do?"

"I-I am not entirely sure what I have done, Mr Van Helsing," Minto stammered weakly. "It would ah…appear that I have restored a few ah…um…other things along with her soul."

* * *

_Tara was lost in a maze of corridors; with each turn she took she grew more and more confused. Something about the corridors was familiar and she felt that they ought to be comforting, but she could not shake off the deep set feeling that something was very wrong._

_Gradually, as her thoughts became more coherent, she began to recognise things. A painting there, a tapestry here, she knew where certain rooms led. She also knew where she needed to go. Almost breaking into a run, Tara lifted her skirts and headed down the corridor ahead of her. Her heart was beating quickly as she found the door she was searching for. If anything, what she found inside that room made her heart beat even wilder. _

_In the middle of the room stood an all too familiar four posted bed of the type favoured by young ladies of good breeding, complete with fine lace hangings and pristine white sheets. However, sprawled in the midst of the bed was a young lady who could not possibly have been of fine breeding. She was stark naked for want of a better term, her arms were stretched out behind her head to give Tara a full view of a fine pair of breasts. Her legs too were spread, offering a view of a treasure of a different kind, dark but exceptionally inviting. Tara glanced from the offerings on display to the face of the woman in question. She found herself staring straight into the dancing and highly mischievous eyes of one Miss Willow Van Helsing who apparently was not a lady of good breeding as she appeared to have no qualms whatsoever about baring absolutely everything. _

"_There you are!" she purred. "You kept me waiting so long I almost started without you!"_

_Tara stared as Willow moved one of her hands down from where it lay above her head to trail downwards. She watched it glide over the pair of breasts and down over the creamy white stomach before coming to rest lightly atop the mound between Willow's legs. One finger moved further downwards, slipping beneath the mound and into the dark slit beneath. Tara saw Willow's eyes half-close in anticipation. _

"_I want your fingers here!" Willow pleaded, even as her fingers lightly stroked the flesh beneath them. _

"_W-Willow…" Tara whispered, her voice quite numb, lacking any emotion. _

_She made no move to do Willow's bidding and instead stood frozen in the doorway. _

"_That is not quite the reaction I was hoping for," Willow said softly, her fingers coming to a halt and sliding out from the folds between her legs. _

_Tara ducked her head and bit her lip, straining to try and remember something which last just beyond her grasp. "I-I am sorry, Will...I just feel so…lost."_

"_Tara?" Willow quickly lost the smouldering expression on her face as she gathered her limbs together and sat up, swinging her legs over the side of her four-posted bed, "Why do you feel lost?"_

"_It seems an age since I saw you last," Tara whispered in reply, taking a few cautious steps toward her naked lover. "I cannot remember when…"_

_Willow frowned slightly but offered something to jog Tara's memory. "Well, it has been a few weeks, not since Sunday last, after church…when you and I shared a rather naughty carriage ride together."_

_Tara remembered. Willow had begged Abraham to walk the three miles back to Hagley Park in order to let the two women ride alone in the carriage. No sooner had they folded themselves within its confines, Willow had drawn every curtain closed and set about undoing the laces on Tara's bodice. Moments later her other hand had somehow found its way up under her skirts and beneath the laces of her drawers. A few moments after that Tara had her legs up on the seat opposite her receiving the enthusiastic attentions of her lover. A wanton and blasphemous Willow had whispered in her ear that she had spent the entire church service imaging just what she would to do her when they were alone once more. _

_The heat rose quickly in her cheeks and also in her loins at the memory. She allowed Willow's small smile to relax her to the point where she could no longer resist crossing the room to her naked lover's side. _

_Willow stood before Tara reached her and gently threaded her arms around her waist, drawing her in close. She stroked Tara's back and felt her relax gradually, her breathing slowed and she nuzzled into the nape of her neck. _

"_You gave me a scare, Tara," Willow whispered quietly, drawing back so she could stare up into her liquid blue eyes. She reached up and trailed several fingers down the side of Tara's face, the blonde smiled and lent into the touch. "Are you quite sure you feel well?"_

"_Yes," Tara replied slowly. "I am sorry Will…I did not feel quite myself for some reason."_

"_I could make myself respectable and have Nancy make us some tea?" Willow offered helpfully. _

_Tara flicked her eyes down over Willow's naked body, her previous unease almost forgotten. "We could…but it would be a shame to waste your careful plans."_

_Willow's eyes shone once more with a mischievous glint. "It would indeed…what do you propose Miss Maclay?"_

"_You could…you could return to your previous position," Tara suggested hopefully. _

"_Yes ma'am," Willow moved to comply and a few moments later she was once again spread eagled against the pillows behind her. _

_Tara could not remove her own clothes fast enough. Naked, she joined Willow on the bed and their limbs threaded together in a manner that meant they belonged together. With her thigh moving slowly against Willow' centre, Tara bent to kiss her. A small sigh emerged from her throat which gradually became a drawn out moan as one hand closed over Willow's nearest breast. She massaged the tender flesh, teasing the nipple until it was rock hard beneath her fingers. Her attentions moved to the other breast, teasing it for several minutes until she broke the kiss, trailing her lips down over Willow's chin, her neck, her collarbone, to her breasts. Hungrily she took first one, and then the other in her mouth in turn, lavishing attention on the sweet flesh as Willow squirmed beneath her. Even as Tara was busy with her breasts, her thigh continued to move against Willow's flesh. _

_Gradually Tara became aware of the slick moisture between her thigh and Willow's centre. She realised with a fierce jolt that Willow was more than ready for her. Her fingers trailed over Willow's flesh, eagerly moving downwards. In moments her fingers slipped between the same folds that Willow herself had stroked to tease her earlier. She ground her fingers against the tender, slick flesh, her touch rough but gentle. _

"_Inside!" Willow gasped, desperately thrusting her hips forward against Tara's hand. "Please."_

_In response to Willow's demanding gasp, Tara thrust two of her fingers up inside her. Willow was more than wet and the fingers entered quickly. Tara ground forward with her hips as she thrust her fingers as deeply as possible. _

_Willow groaned, continuing to thrust her hips forward in time with the fingers that were filling her passage. She searched and found Tara's lips once more, claiming them fiercely for a moment before breaking the contact long enough to whisper in Tara's ear. "Say we can stay here forever," Willow pleaded._

"_Of course, Will," Tara replied quietly. "Forever."_

_Tara gazed down at the woman spread beneath her as she arched her back in the throes of passion. Her head was tilted back as she strained to hold herself together, baring completely the creamy expanse of her white neck. Tara thrust forward again to feel Willow's already throbbing cunt suddenly spasm violently around her fingers as she orgasmed. The redhead opened her mouth in a silent scream, her head digging back further into the pillows behind her. _

_As the woman bellow her writhed in the exquisite agony of her climax, Tara simultaneously thrust forward one last time and lowered her mouth to Willow's throat. She felt her own shudders of fierce pleasure as soon as she bit through Willow's soft skin and into the veins beneath. _

_Willow's silent scream of ecstasy became one of vocal pain as Tara drank deeply and savagely, tearing at the flesh to expose more of the sweet liquid. Her veins continued to pulse, spewing forth her lifeblood over her sweaty chest and onto the tangled white sheets beneath her. Tara continued to thrust forward as she drank until she had ridden out the last waves of her climax. With the pleasant, damp warmth still clinging to her thighs she emitted a small growl and dove forward with an increased determination, needing to taste as much of Willow as possible. Although she drank deeply and fiercely, she still craved more. Willow thrashed beneath her but she kept her body weight securely stop her and pinned both arms back against the bed. _

_In time, the cries and the struggling stopped but Tara continued to drink from the lifeless body beneath her._

_Willow's sightless green eyes stared at the ceiling, the white sheets beneath her were no longer white but stained entirely red with her blood._

"Willow!" Tara desperately gasped out the name as she jerked her body upwards.

She was enveloped in complete darkness, unable even to see the hand she waved in front of her face. With cautious hands she reached out and felt her surroundings, a few feet in every direction she found nothing but cold, damp stone of the floor on which she sat. Eventually she came to a wall that was just as cold and damp as the floor. Even so it gave her some sense of stability and she curled up against it with her knees tucked up under her chin.

Crouched there in the darkness Tara felt only the chill of her own body and the steady thump-thump of her heart it her chest. It was almost like being in the womb…although completely lacking the warmth of a mother's body. Her thoughts were scattered, although she could remember her name, there were very few other solid pieces of information that she could grasp a hold of. Just as she was grasping at the edges of understanding where she was, she was interrupted by a screeching rasp and the sound of surfaces grating against one another. With the sound came a shaft of light, small at first and then growing quickly until she could see the stone walls that hemmed her in.

Eventually Tara had to turn her head towards the wall and close her eyes in pain as the influx of light overwhelmed her sensitive eyes. She heard booted footsteps echo on the stone floors as someone came to a halt nearby. Slowly, only able to see through barely open eyes, Tara turned towards the light. Beyond the heavy bars of a cell door, she saw a man's tall figure staring in at her. As her eyes gradually adjusted to recognise who he was, she realised that her heart was beating all too quickly in fear. So intense was the experience, she had to press her hand to her chest for fear of the organ thrusting through the skin.

As she clutched her heart she remembered the dream, while there had been fierce love making involved, Tara could only concentrate on one thing…the blood. Willow's blood. She squeezed her eyes shut once more as a plethora of images filled her mind, this time not from the dream but from a reality that might as well have been a dream.

The image of fucking Willow up against a wall was quickly replaced by one of a sword in her hand. Moments later she thrust it into Willow's unprotected back and watched her collapse to the ground, watching the life ebb from her body. Keeping one hand pressed against her heart, she pressed the other to her mouth to stop the sobs from emerging. She could not however hold back the steady flow of tears.

"It hurts to be alive does it not?" was the soft question.

Tears streaming down her face, Tara turned to face the man standing in front of her cell. She recognised him immediately. It was Abraham Van Helsing. His weathered and lined face bore absolutely no trace of sympathy.

"I murdered Willow," Tara whispered, the very words sounding so incomprehensible to her ears.

She thought perhaps if she spoke them aloud she would hear just how ridiculous they were and know it could not possibly be true. Instead she felt the truth of them pierce her beating heart. She tore her gaze away from Abraham and pressed her cheek against the cold, damp stone behind her, grinding her skin against it as though that would erase the memories. However, she already knew that she could bang her head against the stone a million times and it would not change what she had done.

"Yes you did," Abraham agreed in a chillingly quiet voice. "And that is something you are going to have to live with for a very, very long time."


	29. The Last Van Helsing

**Chapter 29  
The Last Van Helsing**

She does not know for sure how long her fists have pounded on the stone walls of her prison, nor how long her screams of pain have echoed within their confines, only her instincts tell her that it has been longer than mere days or weeks. She knows this because she has already screamed for so long her voice has wasted away to nothing and she can feel the painful red raw state of her knuckles. Although vampires are creatures of the night, she can no longer stand the state of absolute darkness in which she is kept and she longs for a light of any kind - even the sunlight which would bring about her destruction.

Her world of solitude is harshly interrupted with the sound of a door opening and a weak light suddenly filling her cell. Her eyes have difficulty adjusting and all she can see is a dark shadow coming to stand before the iron bars of her cell. There is a rasping noise that hurts her ears and the grate on the iron door is opened, another bowl of blood is slopped into middle of her cell, most of its contents spilling onto the already stained and sticky floor. She starts to crawl towards the shafts of light spilling across the floor, like a moth to a flame, but all too quickly the grate is slammed shut and the shadow leaves. Moments later the external door closes to throw her back into complete darkness. A weak, strangled sob erupts from her mouth as she feels the loss of light as yet another cruel stab to her beating heart.

She collapses to the floor. The sobs gradually intensify until her entire body is twisted and heaving. Her cries emerge as near-silent, breathy gasps from her hoarse throat. This continues until she is too weak to even cry and her limp body is nothing more than a lump on the floor of her cell. Time passes, although she cannot be sure if it is minutes or hours. Instead everything merges together into one impenetrable void where nothing is coherent. Nothing until she sees a flash of red in her mind. It is just as abrupt and painful as the light hurting her eyes, possibly even more so.

Gradually the colours solidify, forming a face so perfectly beautiful she has difficulty remembering if such a person ever existed.

"W-W…"

The word is on her lips but it will go no further, she will not allow herself to put a name to the face. However she remembers something of why she is enduring her tortured existence. The desire to live once again enters her mind.

She manages a slow, awkward crawl, using her elbows rather than her wounded hands and makes her way to the bowl. She does not need to feel for it, she can smell the sharp tang of blood and knows exactly where it is. Balancing the bowl between her wrists, she lifts it to her lips and drinks heartily. As it slides down her throat she immediately feels invigorated, her thoughts become more coherent and she thinks perhaps she might not be going insane after all. After draining the bowl and licking it dry, she tosses it in the direction of the door. She listens to it clatter against the iron bars

She knows her existence is pitiful and she is reduced to being a mere tortured wreck of a creature…but she also knows that she has something to live for. This something overrides any shreds of dignity she still retains and makes her accept the pitiful food her captor offers her. She knows she has to stay alive. She clings to this purpose, it is her whole existence. Out of necessity she suppresses all thoughts of never leaving her cell. She has already spent countless hours wondering what would befall her if her captor should die and leave her imprisoned. Imagining a slow, lingering death once brought her to the point of madness and it was only with great effort that she forced herself back to the present and the shreds of information which kept her alive.

She makes her way to a corner of her cell, with her hunger sated for now she is able to think about sleep. With her limbs folded around her, knees tucked up to her chest and arms hugging them tightly against her, she closes her eyes. She allows the slow beating of her heart to lull herself to sleep even as she knows that the nightmares that plague her waking hours will increase tenfold in her unconscious mind.

* * *

**1828 **

Jeremiah Croft thought himself one of the luckiest young men alive…well, apart from his unfortunate infancy where both his parents died within the space of a month. However, his lack of any memory whatsoever of his parents meant that the misfortune of their passing had very little impact on his life, other than those moments in which he wondered how very different his life would have been if they had lived. However, after listening to Mr Giles's recollections, he was of the firm opinion that he came from a very fine and interesting family indeed. He had inherited the dark good looks and swarthy build of his grandfather, tempered somewhat with softer lines from his mother's side. Both his father and grandfather had been demon hunters, a rare occupation indeed but one in which the sixteen year old was determined to excel.

He could think of no better ally in this goal than his foster father, Rupert Giles. Even from early boyhood he had realised that the old man was a veritable trove of knowledge. Giles seemed to know everything about anything and there was absolutely no answer he could not give…although there were more than a few answers that he would not give the young lad - not yet anyway.

Jeremiah did not overly mind as he felt that his education was progressing at a very fine pace indeed. Not only could he read and write…he could do so perfectly in Greek and Latin. He also knew more about demonology than was natural for any young man to know and he knew how to kill them…in theory at least. He had never actually come face to face with a demon and although he had often protested to Giles, he was secretly glad he was not yet old enough to be unleashed on the creatures of the night. Still, Giles had gone as far to say that Jeremiah was the most exceptional student he had ever taught. Although Jeremiah had been raised to be modest, he could not help but think of his exceptional skills as being exceedingly exceptional indeed.

He also thought himself particularly lucky to be alive at such an exciting time and living in a city as vibrant and bustling as London. There was no greater proof of this than the scene upon which he gazed this particular spring morning.

Jeremiah had previously thought that no sight could possibly be more fascinating than watching a building the size of Montagu House be torn down. Watching day by day as the once grand library was reduced to its basic elements, brick, wood, glass and tile, Jeremiah realised that one could not truly appreciate the technical marvel of construction until one had witnessed its deconstruction. Giles on the other hand did not seem to share his enthusiasm for the building's destruction. Young Jeremiah very wisely deduced that Giles had developed a strong affinity for his old library and had difficulty accepting the fact that Montagu House's collection had grown to the point where they were almost spilling out the doors and windows. He had often helpfully reminded Giles that this was the way progress worked, the old was destroyed to make way for the new but more than once he had been silenced mid-sentence by an angry glare. At times such as this, he wisely held his tongue until the time came when Giles was able to appreciate exactly what it was that was being created.

The time, Jeremiah thought, had finally come. He had not visited the construction site for over two months and his patience was dully rewarded at the sight of all the progress that had been achieved. With a grin breaking out on his face, he turned to Giles who was still some distance behind him.

"I told you they would have commenced the raising of the beams!" he pointed in the distance to where an intricate iron beam was being ever so slowly lifted heavenward. Giles nodded politely as he finally caught up with his young charge. "Did I also tell you that due to its immense size, the beams are cast iron! We are witnessing history Giles…you can almost envision an entire building made of iron in the not too distance future."

"Almost," Giles muttered wryly.

"Giles, you do not need to feign enthusiasm merely to humour me, "Jeremiah folded his arms across his chest as though he were offended but there was a gleam in his eye and his grin lingered on his face.

"Your enthusiasm is overly infectious," Giles admitted grudgingly. "Although I still do not see what was wrong with our old home. The books and I were perfectly content."

Jeremiah was not at all impressed by this line of argument. "Giles, I spent my childhood listening to you complain about Montagu House's lack of space…and you very nearly keeled over when you learnt that the King's Library of 65,000 volumes was to be donated to the collection. You should really admit that you fear change. It is a common trait in one so-"

The young man's mouth clamped shut before he could utter his next word, thereby digging a larger hole for himself. However, he had not cut himself off quickly enough and Giles's hand snapped out to cuff him lightly over the back of his head. As he rubbed his head he cast an annoyed glance back over his shoulder towards Giles. He met the warlock's stern gaze and decided that any further conversation on the subject was a bad idea.

"There stands Mr Van Helsing," Jeremiah tactfully changed the subject away from Giles' advanced years, pointing towards a tall figure in the distance.

"Indeed," Giles stated, hardly sounding as though he had just laid eyes on an old friend.

As the two men drew closer, it was all too apparent that Abraham Van Helsing was throwing himself with great gusto into the rebuilding project. He moved about the construction site with the vigour of a man half his age, seeming to oversee every aspect and issue orders to every man working. He had stripped down to his shirt which was stained with as much grime and sweat as the lowliest labourer.

Jeremiah was less keen to approach closer now that he had seen Van Helsing; he had never liked the aloof, temperamental Museum Director…and the feeling was most probably mutual. While Giles had all the time in the world for him and his incessant questions, Van Helsing managed to ignore him most of the time and the few times when he did have something to say to him, it was usually unjustifiably harsh.

"What was Mr Van Helsing like when he was younger?" Jeremiah asked as he and Giles came to a halt just outside the construction site, both watching as an intricately worked iron truss was lifted skyward by the wooden cranes.

Giles turned his head slightly, not fully meeting Jeremiah's gaze. "Why do you ask?"

Jeremiah shrugged, trying to play down his curiosity. "No real reason…I just wondered if he was always such a grumpy old bastard."

Although Giles would not meet his gaze, Jeremiah was staring straight at him and he saw the small, sad smile that curled his lips. Behind his glasses, Giles's eyes were slightly misty.

"Your father felt exactly the same way about Abraham as you do…which is-" Giles struggled to find the appropriate word and finally came up with "-unfortunate."

"I fail to see how such an opinion is unfortunate," Jeremiah muttered, turning his attention back to the construction work, the iron beam was being manoeuvred into place atop the stone work, "It is naught but the truth."

"It may very well be the truth…but it was not always so," Giles replied, "It is unfortunate that Abraham will be remembered for the man he has become…as opposed to the man he was."

"And what sort of man was he?" Jeremiah continued his line of questioning in order to be polite, sensing that Giles felt it important.

"Almost the opposite of everything he is now…kind, quietly spoken, utterly selfless and terribly brave," Giles elaborated, the tone of his voice taking on a wistful nature as though he would give anything to have that man back once again.

"Giles, this line of conversation is prodding me to inquire as to the reason behind such a change…it must have been truly momentous to cause such a shift in character."

"Another time perhaps," Giles's tone clearly indicated that was as much as he was prepared to say.

Jeremiah drew his attention away from the work going on in front of him and turned to Giles with an annoyed look on his face. He felt decidedly cheated by the fact that Giles would build up such a picture of Van Helsing's background only to refuse to add the last few details. When he saw the look in Giles's eyes, he realised that whatever it had been, his mentor was also invested emotionally those mysterious events of the past. He frowned slightly at this realisation, wondering what it could have been to cause such a change in Abraham Van Helsing and yet leave Rupert Giles unaffected…or was he? Jeremiah began to think that perhaps his mentor had also changed…although this was difficult to accept, he had always imagined that Giles had changed little over the centuries. Jeremiah immediately felt somewhat ashamed that he would hold onto such a narrow point of view…people changed over the course of their lives, sometimes dramatically and there was no reason for Giles to be any different.

"Did it have something to do with his family?" Jeremiah prodded tentatively. "Did someone die?"

Giles gave him a 'warning' look but Jeremiah was not to be put off so easily. He felt he had already pushed the boundaries of his relationship with his mentor farther than was appropriate, going a little further was worth the risk…and he did not seriously think that Giles could actually be angry with him anyway.

"It must have been someone dying, his wife? His brother…sister…"

Giles let out a small growl as soon as Jeremiah mentioned the word sister. "You really are the most impertinent and rude young man I have ever had the misfortune of teaching…desist with this line of questioning or I will have you personally re-organise the Museum's entire catalogue!"

Jeremiah once again found himself clamping his mouth shut, he had absolutely no doubt that Giles would act on his threat. He had no desire to spend the rest of his life cataloguing museum objects and decided that it was best not to pursue his line of questioning. The information he had gleaned however, was more than enough to inspire him to start a little research of his own. So Abraham Van Helsing had a sister…Jeremiah predicted that by the end of the day he would know exactly who she was and what had happened to her. He resumed watching the raising of the beams with a satisfied expression on his face, not knowing that the afternoon's events would render digging for Van Helsing's family history completely irrelevant.

What happened next came in a blur of noise and flying dust, even later, reflecting on what had happened, Jeremiah could not be entirely sure that his memories were correct. He could however, be certain of the outcome, having seen it with his own eyes. It was an image which would be burned into his mind for the rest of his life.

At some point, one of the thick cables carrying the beam skywards snapped and the heavy iron truss came crashing back down to earth. It didn't fall straight; it flew almost as though it had been picked up in a gust of wind. There was an awful sickening sound as it hit the ground, thudding into stonework, earth…and flesh.

"Oh my god," Jeremiah whispered. "Mr Van Helsing..."

Even as his voice trailed off, Giles was already running towards the scene of the accident. He had disappeared into the cloud of dust before Jeremiah had even thought to make his feet move. As he did make his way forward, the shouts and cries of the workmen filled his ears and the dust his nostrils and eyes. He was rubbing his eyes ineffectively when he saw Giles bent low to the ground over the torso of a man pinned beneath the fallen beam. His jaw dropped as he moved closer and saw Abraham Van Helsing's ashen face. As his gaze trailed lower he realised what had happened…the heavy iron beam had brutally and roughly sliced him in half. The splashes of violent red covering the ground and the lower half of his torso were in stark contrast to the pallor of his skin.

Jeremiah immediately stumbled to the ground and felt as though his stomach would eject his breakfast, he gamely fought to keep himself under control but only by not looking at the scene in front of him.

"Abraham." It was Giles's voice, dry and strained, it seemed as though he could not find the words.

"Don't bother with your….sympathies, Giles," Abraham's voice carried faintly to Jeremiah's ears. It sounded as though it were being forced out between his lips. You know as well as I that death is only the beginning."

Rupert Giles have seen the face of death before, the sight in front of him brought him back to another time when another Van Helsing lay dying in front of him. However, he had long ceased to feel the emotional bonds with Abraham that he had shared with Willow and there was but one thought on his mind…and it was not sympathy.

"Abraham, you must tell me where the skull is!" Giles fought the urge to shake the dying man by his lapels.

Abraham Van Helsing smiled, a toothy grin of pain, blood bubbling between his teeth, he gasped, "Y-you know it is well…h-h-hidden."

"It needs to be destroyed!" Giles urged, gripping the dying man's hand.

Abraham's severed body shuddered violently, Giles gripped him by the shoulders to keep him still and finally he sagged in a limp form. Giles appeared crestfallen as the man died without giving him any further information. However, even as life fled his body, Abraham managed to utter his last words…words which seemed to make absolutely no sense.

"Most…Horrid…Magicks," Abraham whispered.

He was then still; his eyes stared blankly towards the heavens, his cragged and pale face appearing at peace. Giles's body flopped backwards to the ground, and he sat staring at the corpse with an expressionless face.

A few metres away, Jeremiah finally had his stomach under control and managed to make his way to Giles's side. He reached down and laid a firm hand on Giles's shoulder. The contact was not to express his sympathy for Van Helsing's death, but to keep himself upright when he was in danger of sagging to his knees at the horrific sight.

"What does that mean?" Jeremiah asked to keep his mind off the mutilated man lying in front of him. "Giles, his last words made no sense!"

"They made perfect sense," Giles assured him with a brisk nod; he reached out and tenderly closed Abraham's eyes.

A few moments later, he stood. With his support gone, Jeremiah's legs gave out on him and he slumped to his knees, feeling more than a little sick to his stomach. He could not drag his eyes away from the body, finally feeling a hint of sadness well up inside him…more for the man that Abraham Van Helsing must have once been than the one he knew. When he eventually did draw his gaze away he found Giles was walking away.

"Hurry up if you're coming," he called over his shoulder.

"Where?" Jeremiah scrambled to his feet and managed to break into a jog to catch up with Giles.

"Gordon Square."

* * *

Jeremiah Croft had only ever once set foot in the parlour of Abraham Van Helsing's house on Gordon Square and that had been more than far enough for the young man. However as he followed Giles in for the second time, he realised the house was not as foreboding as he had once thought it. It was not too hard for the young man to know why, with the dominating and thoroughly unpleasant presence of Van Helsing himself missing from the picture the house actually seemed pleasant and inviting.

There was no time to make oneself at home however; he almost had to maintain a jog to keep up with Giles as the older man moved through the house, dismissing the questioning servant that appeared from the kitchen with a flick of his hand. Jeremiah made an apologetic face towards the grey haired old man but there was a look of acceptance on his face as though Giles had a right to intrude in Abraham Van Helsing's home.

Giles made his way swiftly into a library of sorts and straight for a bookcase. When he tugged a certain book, the entire section, still laden with books, began to move.

"How splendid!" Jeremiah exclaimed as the hidden door swung inwards to reveal a narrow passageway leading down.

He followed Giles closely, the darkness broken by the burning torches in their brackets. When they emerged into the room that lay beneath the house proper, Jeremiah's jaw dropped to see the training room laid out in front of him with all its marvels and distractions. Even as he was trying to take everything in, Giles moved off to the left towards yet more bookcases. Reluctantly dragging his eyes away from the weapons, Jeremiah followed him. He finally understood Abraham's last words when he saw Giles's fingers fall onto the leather bound spine of a book. He glanced at the title to read 'Moste Horride Magicks.' Abraham's last words had been the title to the book which would unlock yet another secret passage.

"There are only two copies of this book in existence," Giles answered Jeremiah's unspoken question. "One is in the Museum's rare books collection and the other has been here for some time."

The case swung inwards as soon as the book was tugged, the light from the torches burning in the training room revealed a dark passage with no lights of its own. While Giles stepped straight into the darkness, Jeremiah retrieved a torch from a nearby bracket before following. The light revealed the passage to lead absolutely nowhere; the only opening was an iron barred door to one side. Jeremiah stopped just behind Giles who was staring into the darkness beyond the bars.

"What is it Mr Giles?" Jeremiah strained to see anything through the iron bars.

He saw nothing but darkness but definitely caught a whiff of several strong odours. His nose wrinkled a few times before he was assaulted by the full, extremely unpleasant smell emanating from within the cell. It was almost tangy…like blood and fear mixed together. He heard movement in the darkness before he saw anything; there was a frantic, animalistic scuffling. Gradually his eyes adjusted to the dim light and he made out a form pressed against the far wall. His eyes widened as he realised it was not an animal but a person. The figure turned slightly towards the light and he caught sight of a decidedly feminine shape to the jaw and lips…although he could make out little, he was sure it was a woman.

"Mr Giles, I do not believe that is a skull," Jeremiah observed pointedly, he paused and frowned. "Well, there is a skull but it would be attached to her neck…and covered in flesh…so you wouldn't really call it a skull as such, given that she…or whatever it is...is still alive."

"Indeed," Giles ignored much of Jeremiah's babbling and stepped a little closer to the bars, although he did not need to see the face of the figure huddled in front of him to know who it was.

It slowly lifted its head. Giles's gaze went not to its face but to the collar of his own creation fastened around the creature's pale throat. The collar had gone missing from his office at Montagu House some years earlier. Now he knew exactly what had become of it.

His gaze then travelled back up to the creature's face and his instincts were confirmed. It was indeed the demon who had killed Willow Van Helsing. Its blue eyes pierced the darkness but the dull stare lacked the fire or anger he remembered from Covasna. The only emotions he saw were fear and absolute sorrow.

He held his hand over the lock and murmured a few words, of its own accord the bolts slid free and the door swung inwards. Although he approached the demon with a measure of caution, Giles felt strangely unthreatened. He watched as it pressed itself hard against the wall as though trying to shrink from his presence.

As his eyes became accustomed to the gloom in the cell he was able to make her out more clearly. She was clad in rags with every exposed area of skin absolutely filthy. There was crusted blood around her mouth but that was not the sight that caused him to drop his jaw, it was the moist tears creating tracks through the dirt on its face. Tentatively Giles reached out and touched its face, feeling the wetness for himself. It flinched away immediately, twisting her head away from his touch. Without pity, Giles seized its chin in a vice-like grip and yanked the demon's head so he could stare into its eyes. He said nothing but the look on his face conveyed all the necessary hatred and revulsion.

Jeremiah watched silence for a moment until Giles dragged the woman to her feet. He was only just beginning to realise that the blood stains covering the floor and the rags she wore did not belong to her. It had been food.

"She is a vampire?" he whispered, staring at the blood stained bowl at his feet. "Why on earth would Mr Van Helsing be keeping a vampire locked in his cellar?"

Giles did not reply, instead he wrenched the demon to its feet and shouldered roughly past Jeremiah who had already jumped out of the way to avoid coming into contact with an actual demon. It made no attempt to struggle as Giles dragged it back into the training room and towards the stairs. Jeremiah could do nothing except follow, although he had a sinking suspicion as to what was about to happen.

His suspicions were confirmed minutes later as Giles opened a set of French doors that led to a small courtyard. Still the creature made no move to resist and with one final shove, Giles sent its thin, rag-clad body flying out onto the sun-drenched courtyard.

Although Jeremiah had never seen it for himself, it was a well known fact that vampires burned when exposed to sunlight. However, although the creature was writhing about in pain, it was obviously because the light hurt her after having been kept in darkness for a long time. All her movements, shielding her eyes, making for the small patch of shade by the wall, were reactions that a human would make…a demon would have already started burning.

"I don't understand," Jeremiah surged forward, his eyes wide with curiosity. "She looks like a vampire…and yet she is not burning? Giles, why does she not burn?"

Giles was far too disturbed to answer the young man; instead he drew a stake from the pocket of his jacket and crossed to where the creature lay curled in the centre of the courtyard. He seized the vampire roughly by the hair and it cried out once more in pain. Giles remained immune to the pathetic sounds emerging from its lips as he dragged it to its feet. Without waiting for it to gain a proper footing he pulled it up in one swift tug and threw it against the wall of the courtyard.

Such was the force behind the shove that Jeremiah winced as the vampire's head cracked against the stone. She cried out again and he almost felt as though he should intervene. The feeling unnerved him somewhat as he had a well-developed loathing of vampires. After all, Giles had told him the one such creature had been responsible for his father's death. However, he couldn't help but feel that something was different…and the longer he stared at her, the more her realised he was seeing her as a woman rather than a demon.

Giles on the other hand, could not see it as anything but the demon that had murdered Willow Van Helsing. With rough fingers he tugged aside the rags covering its chest to expose the flesh above the heart. He then drew his arm backwards in preparation for plunging it downwards. He merely grazed the skin covering its chest with his fingers but that was all it took for him to feel the unmistakable thud of a heart. He paused long enough to come emerge from his hate fuelled rage and realised that the vampire was breathing. As it tried to cringe away from him, its breaths came short and fast with terror

"Tell me now, you piece of filth, what has Abraham Van Helsing done to you?" Giles demanded in a tightly wound voice, clearly straining to maintain any semblance of control.

The vampire did not reply as it was still trying to shield its eyes from the harsh sunlight. He once again seized the chin, forcing it to look at him through narrowed eyes that watering profusely in its pain.

Giles felt his finger nails dig into its flesh but he could not care less, all he wanted was an answer, "Tell me now or I will take great pleasure in driving this stake through your chest!"

"S-s…" the vampire's lips worked slowly as it struggled to form words.

Giles was impatient in his anger and he pulled he forward slightly only so he could again slam its head backwards against the stone. "Speak!"

"Soul," the single word emerged as a drawn out gasp from its lips.

Just that one word was enough to almost knock Giles off his feet. For a moment his guard was down entirely and an expression other than anger registered on his face, that of fear…however it was quickly wiped, replaced once again by his fierce scowl. He could do nothing however about the turmoil that raged within. He wondered how the hell Abraham had managed to do the impossible.

"Giles, what does she mean by that?" Jeremiah asked incredulously, daring to step a little closer.

"Firstly stop referring to this creature as 'she'," Giles replied coldly. "It is not a person…and secondly, I believe Abraham Van Helsing found a way to restore the demon's soul. The spell had a few unwanted side effects, a botched job most likely."

"How can you restore a soul at all let alone botch it?" Jeremiah strained for a better view and his eyes widened when he clearly saw the rise and fall of her chest, while he had never seen a vampire before he definitely knew that they were not supposed to be breathing.

Giles ignored Jeremiah's incessant questioning, knowing that there would be no end…and also because he did not possess many of the answers. His real concern was establishing why this creature had remained alive in Abraham's cellar. Despite the pitiful state it was in, he felt only anger and hatred towards it. Although he found what Abraham had done to it to be horribly unethical from a magical point of view, he did not feel the slightest bit of sympathy for the suffering he had inflicted. Giles even felt a small smile come unbidden to his lips when he realised the creature would have been left in the dark, fully aware of exactly what she had done to Willow and suffering terribly because of it. It was a fitting punishment…if a little unconventional.

"You have precisely thirty seconds before I end your miserable existence…tell me, why are you still alive?" Giles demanded.

"T-to suffer," it whispered. "H-he wanted me to…s-s-suffer."

"I'm well aware of that!" Giles barked, removing his fingers from its chin only long enough to slap it across the cheek with the full force of his palm, the head snapped to one side momentarily but he grabbed the chin once more and forced it to face him even as the tears fell freely down its cheeks, "However I am also aware of the fact that you could have given up…refused to feed, ended all of this…surely that option was preferable to dwelling in your own filth for years?"

"Y-yes," the vampire whispered. "But I had to live…to tell someone…to tell you…the skull…"

Giles scoffed derisively. "What does a pathetic creature like you know about the skull?"

"I know who knows where it is," was the small reply.

"And I suppose Van Helsing told you this did he?" Giles snorted, already having difficulty believing a word of what she said.

She replied with the barest hint of a nod and drew in a deep breath before speaking. "He said W-Will…" another deep breath. "He said Willow would know how to find the skull."

Giles let out an angry growl, incensed that it would even dare to mention Willow's name. "There is a small problem with that…one you are responsible for."

"I know…and nothing I do will change that," its voice was raspy, barely above a whisper. "But if you truly desire to uncover the skull in order to destroy it…you'll need to bring her back."

"Impossible!"

"No…nearly impossible…w-w would need to work together," another deep, shaky breath before it continued, "You know as well as I that she deserves a chance at life…she was murdered cruelly…unjustly. Please Giles, ignore the fact that you have to accept the words of a demon and do it for her."

Giles released the vampire and it fell back to the cobbles; pale skin marked red where his fingers had dug into the flesh. She immediately curled into a tight ball against the courtyard wall as though she expected him to strike her once again.

"Jeremiah, take this thing and get it cleaned up, I find its smell offensive!" Giles turned away from the vampire, unable to remain looking at her any longer.

Jeremiah stared blankly ahead in shock for a moment before Giles's words actually registered. He looked back and forth between the vampire and Giles before spinning on his heels.

"Me?" Jeremiah spluttered, following Giles back into the house, leaving the vampire unattended as it huddled against the courtyard wall. "Giles…you can't leave her in my care! I do not know what to do!"

"You must," Giles growled, refusing to turn around as he continued walking further away from the courtyard. "I cannot look at it for a moment longer or I will drive this stake through its chest!"

He angrily tossed the stake to one side where it knocked a vase from a table, both stake and porcelain fragments fell to the floor. Jeremiah realised that Giles was not going to be swayed and stopped following him. He slowly turned around to stare back out the open door. The creature had not moved, she remained exactly where she had crouched when Giles had released her from his grip. With tentative steps, Jeremiah moved back out into the sunlight and into the presence of the vampire. His mouth opened to speak but he realised that he did not know what to say. What was one supposed to say to a filthy, half-starved vampire with a soul?

"Hello," Jeremiah called quietly. "We haven't been formally introduced but I am Jeremiah Croft."

The vampire made no attempt at a response. Jeremiah screwed up his face as he pondered his next move. He felt somewhat annoyed by the fact that he was afraid of this creature, especially with his chosen career path at stake.

"If you would like to accompany me I can see about getting one of the servants to draw you a bath…and perhaps obtain some food…if you eat food? You prefer blood? Not that I am offering my own…I really would appreciate it if you did not attempt to drink mine, you surely noticed that Giles is in somewhat of a temper and I think attacking me might push him over the edge…and you would be…well…" Jeremiah spread his fingers to mimic his words. "Poof!"

She flinched noticeably, causing Jeremiah to instantly regret his words. Although he was reluctant to move any closer to the vampire, he hunkered down slowly to join her at her level.

"I do not know who this 'Willow' is or why Mr Giles needs to find this skull but I do know that he has decided to spare you, an unlikely turn of events given what you are, so you should accept my help…will you come with me?"

She turned towards him, studying him with her empty eyes. Jeremiah tentatively extended his hand, trying his best to keep his fingers from trembling.

Several minutes passed, Jeremiah and the vampire continued to stare at one another, neither daring to make a further move, either from fear on his part or something unknown on her part.

"Will you come with me?" Jeremiah repeated, he had been staring into the vampire's sapphire gaze so long he feared he was being intoxicated. Given that this was the effect when her eyes were dull and her strength sapped, he could only imagine the effect their full luminescence would have on him…he imagined that it would be something akin to infatuation.

Finally she started to move, her hand moved away from its position curled against her stomach and towards Jeremiah's outstretched hand.

"T-Tara," she said the name as though it were unfamiliar to her own ears.

"Tara," Jeremiah repeated, managing a small smile of encouragement.

As Tara's icy fingers met his own, he of course had no idea that he was taking the hand of the vampire that had killed his father.


	30. Resurrection

**Chapter Thirty  
Resurrection**

_**1829**_

The comfortable blanket of night had fallen upon London's houses and streets. It was quiet, with only the occasional meowing of a cat or rumbling of the night soil cart to disturb the peace of the mostly slumbering residents inside their modest and tidy town houses. Ordinarily, creatures of the night did not stalk the well-kept streets of the middle class but on this particular night, one lone figure moved quietly through the shadows.

Eventually, it paused for several minutes, ensuring that it was indeed alone on the street before moving towards the front door of one of the houses.

A moment later, the figure was greeted at the door by Jeremiah Croft. His already affable features rendered even friendlier by the grin that touched his lips as he recognised the figure standing on the doorstep. He swiftly ushered the cloaked and hooded individual inside with a wave of his hand. His heart beat a little faster when he closed the door and the hood was drawn back to reveal a young woman with pale blonde hair. When she turned to regard him with a cool blue gaze he was powerless to keep his knees from trembling.

"Tara," the tremulous tone of his voice reflected his nervousness. "It is truly a pleasure to see you again."

She lifted her eyebrows as though a little surprised by his enthusiasm but she inclined her head to return the greeting. Jeremiah flushed so violent a shade of red, she may as well have kissed him.

When he had last seen Tara several months earlier, although her injuries had healed, she had still appeared painfully thin. Now as she stood before him, he found himself confronted with a woman of unsurpassed beauty, her hair shone like moonlight as it framed her marble-skinned face. Her lips were lustrous and red, only her eyes reflected a measure of her pain, an unspoken sadness that she carried with her like the black cloak on her shoulders.

Jeremiah struggled to find words to sum up the picture she presented. "You appear…well."

He bit his lip, rather embarrassed that he was so afflicted in Tara's presence, especially when he considered himself such an accomplished young man in all other respects. Clearly he had much to learn when it came to women, especially those that possessed an indescribable and unnatural beauty.

"Is Giles here?" Tara apparently did not share Jeremiah's need for conversation.

The young man was clearly disappointed by her business-like manner but he maintained his cheery demeanour. "Unfortunately he is out at the moment…but I believe he was not intending to be long. Would you care to wait for him here? Take a seat perhaps?"

"I will wait," Tara replied quietly, removing a small cloth wrapped bundle from beneath her cloak and holding it out in front of her with an amount of reverence. "But I would rather stand."

"As you wish," Jeremiah replied quietly, she then turned her back to him, he suspected she was concealing the parcel in her hands, and he suppressed a wistful sigh.

A small part of Tara felt decidedly uncomfortable standing in Giles's small parlour with Jeremiah. Her discomfort had nothing to do with the young man himself, whom she supposed to be a truly good person, but everything to do with the turmoil in her own mind. Outwardly she appeared to be the perfect image of an ensouled vampire…however such a creature was supposed to look and behave. Inwardly she felt like a broken young woman, one who was uneasy in the company of others, whether they were demon or human. Demons sensed that something about her was wrong, and the only humans she dared to come into contact with were Giles, who detested her, and young Jeremiah. Although the latter treated her like a woman as opposed to a demon she was certain this would all change when he learnt that she was responsible for the death of his father, Benjamin Croft.

Tara lived in fear - although she barely felt she could call what she was doing 'living.' It was more like 'existing.' The only reason for her continued existence was her purpose, and she would not allow herself to sink into the abyss of hopelessness and despair so long as she had such a purpose to cling to.

With trembling fingers she caressed the frayed cloth covering the small object in her hands. Try as she might, she could not suppress the memory of what she had done to obtain the item, but it had been a necessary evil.

"What is that?"

Although not intentionally loud or abrupt, she was startled by Jeremiah's question and her shoulders twitched noticeably. She turned to find him staring at her with reddening cheeks.

"My apologies, Tara, I did not realise you were so deep in thought."

"No apology is necessary," Tara replied, her discomfort quickly fading as she was put at ease by Jeremiah's straightforward and friendly manner.

"My curiosity often gets the better of me," he admitted with a sigh. "Giles often says it serves me well as a scholar but in all other areas it renders me an impertinent young man."

"The criticism is unjust, no one should be forced to hide a part of them because it makes others uncomfortable," Tara observed quietly.

Jeremiah was taken aback somewhat by the perceptiveness of her response, he pursed his lips together for a moment as though contemplating whether to ask another question. He drew in a breath before speaking. "I do not mean to pry ever further…but you speak as if you have experience in such matters?"

"Your curiosity also makes you a terrible liar," Tara said as Jeremiah reddened once more. "But I find myself liking you…against my better judgement of course."

Jeremiah's cheeks took on an even more violent hue of red but he also grinned. It was a mixture of reactions which gave him a comical appearance. He noticed a slight lift to one corner of Tara's mouth and dared to think that she might also be smiling.

The possible smile was fleeting however as she continued with a note of regret in her voice, "When I was a young woman, probably the same age as you are now, I made a dreadful decision because I was too afraid to be myself."

"How long ago was this?" Jeremiah pressed gently, eager to learn more about the mysterious woman. "Were Mr Van Helsing and Giles young men?"

Tara shook her head slowly. "I do not think that Giles was ever a young man. I did however know Abraham Van Helsing and he was indeed a young man, both handsome and kind."

"Giles told me as much…but he would not tell me why he changed." Jeremiah felt somewhat guilty seeking the answers from Tara when Giles had refused to give them to him. However, he could not help himself. "Do you know?"

"His sister died," Tara replied abruptly.

Jeremiah was taken aback by the unexpected speed of her response and his mouth worked soundlessly for almost a minute as he tried to formulate additional questions or even make a simple comment. Whatever words he might have said died on his lips as it dawned on him that the blank expression on Tara's face was masking an immense pain.

"Her name was Willow," Tara added before she realised that, as nice as Jeremiah was, there was no way that she could continue the conversation without succumbing to tears. She pursed her lips together and bowed her head to indicate that she was prepared to say nothing more.

"You might want to ask Tara exactly how Willow died."

Neither Tara nor Jeremiah had heard Giles come through the door. He now stood between them, a dark cloud hanging over what had been Jeremiah's first real conversation with Tara. It had also been Tara's first real conversation with anyone since her imprisonment. After staring at Giles for a moment, Jeremiah turned to Tara. Her expressionless mask had been swept aside to reveal a look of absolute devastation. However Willow Van Helsing had died, it had obviously cost Tara dearly.

"You raised me to have better manners," Jeremiah said curtly, angered that Giles would intentionally cause such distress.

"Manners only apply to humans…and certainly not to traitorous, murdering demons of that creature's ilk," Giles nodded towards Tara.

"She has a name," Jeremiah muttered quietly, glancing at his mentor from the corner of his eye.

"And you have better places to be," Giles added with some finality.

If Jeremiah had been several years younger, he would have stamped his foot with some measure of frustrated anger. As it was, he saw the look on Giles's face and knew that this was not an issue he could force. With a curt nod in Giles's direction he turned on his heels and made his way out of the room. He did cast one brief glance back over his shoulder as though he was worried about leaving Tara alone with Giles.

As soon as the door closed behind Jeremiah, Giles turned to Tara. "You have accomplished your task?"

He nodded towards the package Tara held in her hands and she glanced down as well, still cradling it against her body. She nodded and tentatively extended it towards Giles. He took it roughly as though she were not worthy to hold such an object. His next actions however contradicted the care Tara had taken with the package. He tossed aside the cloth wrapping and dashed the small porcelain box to the ground. It shattered into several large shards and the contents within spewed out for several feet. It was dust…grey, ordinary dust that resembled something swept up off the kitchen floor.

"You obviously had no problem gaining access to the grave," Giles muttered, settling himself on the floor beside the dust.

Tara followed suit, a little more hesitantly as she was staring at the dust as though it were flakes of gold. "There was no one for miles…and your protection spells were easily revoked."

"Because you knew they were there," Giles growled.

"The task was not difficult…in theory," Tara ignored his posturing. "But seeing her body like that…not even a body, just bones…and having to reduce the bones to dust."

Tara shivered when she remembered the anguish Giles's task had caused her. She glanced up into his eyes and knew exactly why he had not gone himself. He wanted her to be forced to face what she had done, to see the reality of Willow's death and the ultimate consequences of what she had done. It was yet another form of punishment. Giles had succeeded. The sight of Willow's decayed body would haunt her for the remainder of her years.

"Well, that is normal for people who have been in the ground for decades," Giles replied tartly.

Tara squared her shoulders in the face of Giles's hostility. They both had a job to do and it did not involve trading barely concealed barbs. "Shall we begin?"

Giles did not offer her the courtesy of a reply; he merely began to speak the opening lines of the incantation. The words were ancient, written in a lost language few understood and copied into a medieval tome so rare that Giles was certain he possessed the only remaining copy.

No sooner had Giles opened the spell, its power was revealed to devastating effect. The ornate glass lamp above their heads shattered and the fragments of glass multiplied as they burst in every direction. The shards hit Tara and Giles, piercing skin and drawing blood. Giles immediately blanched, the blood draining from his face and his eyes rolling into the back of his head. Tara could only watch in horror as something appearing to be draining the magicks…and the life, from his body in front of her eyes. She did not open her own mouth, the only words that were to be said were that of the incantation…and no interruptions or deviations were permitted. If anything should happen, they would both be destroyed…and no doubt the entire street along with them.

Tara could not understand what was happening to Giles. He possessed an immense power, she could sense it…and yet he was fading much too quickly. She found herself mouthing the words in time with his but at the same time she felt her own blood grow thin as an oppressive, evil force descended on the room. While not able to shrug it off completely, Tara absorbed some of the oily sensation. It matched the darkness already present in her own veins - she knew evil when she met it.

Before Giles's words ceased altogether Tara forced herself to concentrate enough to be able to force the incantation out from between her lips. Although it had always been Giles's role to take the lead, Tara knew every word by rote, having repeated the spell dozens of times in the event that Giles did falter. He faltered now; the words had long since died on his lips but Tara had already picked them up, her voice just as firm as his had been.

Tara felt as though her entire body was being pierced by thousands of shards of glass as she took Giles's burden. The pain that had engulfed him now threatened to engulf her as well.

Almost as soon as she started the incantation Tara heard angry, threatening voices in her head. They were guardians, demanding to know why one such as she would dare to disturb the peace of the dead. Tara ignored them and continued to invoke the forces that were already at work around her, dangerous, dark forces which would tear her apart in an instant should she let her guard down. With everything working against her, trying to prevent her from going against the very nature of the universe, Tara stood her ground. Where lesser and even greater magic wielders would have failed, Tara was succeeding because she believed in what it was she was doing.

Even as the words left her lips, she continually fought a separate battle in her mind, denying those who would deny her access to Willow's soul. _She does not belong to you...no, she has always been mine and I will take her back!_

In front of her, the swirling dust was slowly drawn together into a single floating mass. Tara watched as the tiny fragments gradually elongated, moving together to create recognisable shapes, an arm, fingers, the curve of a breast. As the moments passed by and the form began to become recognisable, Tara's jaw dropped. Forming into something resembling solidity in front of her eyes, was Willow. The form was naked and insubstantial, reflecting the fact that it really was made up of a myriad of dust particles. However, after all her years spent imprisoned, it was as close as Tara had come to seeing Willow again. The sight of her limp, lifeless shade was enough to bring burning tears to her eyes.

Tara forced herself to close her eyes on the sight in front of her as she focused every remaining ounce of strength she had to perform the last part of the spell. With Giles slumped unconscious on the floor opposite her, she had to do it alone. As Tara formed the words on her lips and the necessary images in her mind, summoning the departed soul of the dead woman back to life, she found everything flowing seamlessly, almost effortlessly. Although she was drained of much of her strength, it took very little for her to gain admittance to the soul. She reached out to the bright, intense light in her mind, pulling it forward. Very little coaxing was needed on her part; the soul came willingly, almost eagerly.

_Too easy_, Tara mused internally, but she knew why. _I love her more than my own life…she is drawn to me as we were always meant to be one, two bodies, two halves of one soul. This isn't a resurrection…it's a reunification._

When Tara's eyes slid open once more, she had to keep her lids half closed lest she be blinded by the brilliant light that lit up the entire room. Even with her eyes half closed, she was clearly able to see the light settle into Willow's limp form, moulding itself gently to every curve, to every hair. Gradually the light was fused into the body and Tara was able to open her eyes fully.

The previously limp form twitched suddenly and the brilliant green eyes blinked once. Tara then realised that the form was aware…and she was staring directly at her. Only moments passed before a look of recognition settled on Willow's face, her mouth opened slightly in wonderment.

"Tara?" The voice was thin and barely audible, as though it was being carried across a great distance.

When Tara went to speak she found a lump in her throat. She instead settled for a weak smile and a nod that did not express a single iota of the emotions that were surging through her mind. The hazy form that represented Willow glanced around. The confusion registered clearly on her face as though she was wondering where she was.

"Tara," the tiny voice repeated. "Where am I?"

Tara coughed to clear her throat before she could reply. It came out like an awkward sob. "Somewhere safe, Will."

The tiny frown at Willow's brow deepened. "Everything is so foggy…what is happening to me? Why can I not remember anything? Tara, please help me."

Tara could not help but choke out another sob upon hearing Willow's desperate plea. "I am helping you. Do you trust me?"

Relief flooded the redhead's worried features and she nodded. "I do."

"Will…" Tara whispered, extending on hand towards the floating form. "I love you."

The small words were lost to an awesome and sudden rush of air that whipped Tara's hair forward over face, partially obscuring her view of Willow's shade. For several moments she felt as though she was at the centre of a maelstrom, fighting to keep from being sucked into it. She watched as Willow's form reverted back to dust, the tiny particles swirling furiously in the air for a moment before disappearing altogether.

The vortex was gone just as suddenly as it had appeared and everything was still once more. Aside from the two windswept people in the centre of the room, absolutely nothing else had been disturbed. The glass shards or the damage they had caused were no where in sight. The lamp still hung intact above their heads, swaying slightly. Aside from the missing dust that had lain between Giles and Tara, it was as though the spell had never taken place…that and Giles's limp body.

Tara barely heard the door being forced open at speed but she did see the blurry form of Jeremiah rushing into the room. The young man had obviously remained just outside the door throughout the spell, waiting and listening. He fell to his knees at Giles's side, a sigh of relief escaping his lips when he saw the welcome rise and fall of his chest. Giles was merely unconscious.

Jeremiah looked up to Tara. "What happened?"

"It is done," Tara whispered, only in the calm did she realise that her entire body was covered in sweat. She felt it beading on her forehead, sliding down her neck and running in rivulets between her breasts.

She and Giles had done it. Somewhere, at some time, Willow Van Helsing would be born again.

* * *

It took some effort, but between Jeremiah's strength and Tara's magickal abilities. The two of them carried Giles's limp form up the stairs to his room. The unconscious warlock was bundled into his bed without so much as a whimper of protest. Both Jeremiah and Tara took up positions watching over him, Jeremiah in a chair beside the bed and Tara at the foot of the bed.

As she perched uncomfortably on the very edge of the mattress, feeling her shoulders sag with exhaustion, she finally acknowledged the fact that she was surprised to have outlasted Giles during the resurrection spell.

"There is something that I do not understand," Jeremiah commented quietly without turning to look at Tara. "Why do you not leave? You would be free. Giles is in no condition to stop you, and I am most certainly not even going to try."

"Leaving would not set me free," the vampire replied quietly. "I think that there is a reason that it was Giles who found me…and despite his feelings towards me, I think he and I must work together to protect Willow."

"And Willow is…was…is…" Jeremiah screwed up his face for a moment before he relaxed and gave up trying. "Mr Van Helsing's sister, who was she? I know almost nothing about her and yet everything seems to revolve around her, she must have been terribly important."

Tara paused to draw in a deep breath. "Yes, she was…she is."

Tara studied the young man's expression. While she had little experience when it came to men, she knew enough to know that the earnest look in his dark eyes was intended for her. She also knew that she did not deserve such devotion and it made her distinctly uncomfortable, almost to the point of feeling physically ill. Although it was an event which had been very quickly overshadowed by what happened subsequently, she very clearly remembered killing Jeremiah's father. The longer she studied the young man sitting next to the bed, the more she realised that the similarities him and his father were almost uncanny. Seeing the dead man's eyes staring back at her overwhelmed her to the point where she was forced to wrench her gaze away abruptly.

"I-I am sorry Jeremiah…perhaps I am more drained that I first thought," Tara whispered, slowly rising to her feet, she gently brushed off Jeremiah's offer of an arm to support her and turned her head. "I would like to rest for a while."

"Of course," Jeremiah replied quickly, he could still see the shining tears on her cheeks and he turned his head to spare her the discomfort of staring at her pain. "I will watch over Giles and you are more than welcome to the guest room at the end of the hall…if that would be appropriate?"

Tara nodded, as she moved away from the bed she felt Jeremiah's gaze follow her. She stopped walking, paused for a moment staring straight ahead, before finally turning back around to look at Jeremiah again.

He smiled slightly as though he had been hoping for one more glimpse of her face. "Was there something else you needed?"

Tara ducked her head for a few seconds, hair falling forward to hide the liquid pools that were her eyes. _Coward, _she thought with disgust. _You should look at him when you tell him and see the expression on his face change to one of hate and loathing, after all, it is what you deserve._ With some effort she managed to look at him again and she sighed sadly, already hurting to know that she was about to lose the one person that she could possibly call a friend.

"I killed your father," Tara admitted quietly.

The air hung thick and heavy in the small room as the two faced one another. Accepting her punishment calmly, Tara forced herself to meet Jeremiah's gaze so she could watch the emotions that played out across his face.

At first he appeared to be struggling to grasp her words even though they had made perfect sense. "I don't understand."

Tara drew in a breath. The sensation of air filling her lungs was still something she had not yet become accustomed and each breath was somehow significant. It was also a painful reminder of the length of time she had been dead. In many ways, she was still dead.

"Sixteen years ago I decided that I wanted the skull for myself. I confronted Abraham Van Helsing and your father and a fight ensued. Your father fought bravely but he was young…and I was very strong. I plunged his own knife into his body. I would hope that the knowledge that it was overly relatively quickly would offer you a small measure of comfort, but I would understand if it did not."

The look of disbelief remained on Jeremiah's face long after Tara expected that it would change to one of anger and hate. His brow furrowed and his lips parted - the only outward sign of the myriad of thoughts that were obviously racing through his mind. As his legs gave out on him, he sank back into the chair beside the bed.

"You said you confronted Abraham Van Helsing as well…" Jeremiah paused as though trying to think through what he was saying. "Where was he when you were stabbing my father?"

_Watching…waiting to seize the opportunity to ensnare me while I was occupied with the young man…he did absolutely nothing to help._ Tara clearly remembered the young man pleading with Abraham for assistance. The cries had no impact on her then…but now they pierced her beating heart with shards of pain. Tara had every right to hate Abraham Van Helsing and every motive to drag his name even further into the mud; however she could still not bring herself to forget the man that he had been and for this reason she omitted to tell Jeremiah the full truth of what happened that night. "I had already knocked Abraham to the ground. He was…he was unable to reach your father in time."

Jeremiah then sighed quietly, wistfully, as though in that brief moment he was once again imagining a life lived with his father. However, it was gone quickly. He was a young man who knew all too well that life could not be lived in dreams.

"Thank you for telling me," Jeremiah replied quietly, without a trace of anger or hate in his voice. "It cannot have been easy."

"You deserved to know," Tara replied simply, lifting her eyebrows slightly as Jeremiah failed to show the prescribed reaction. _Whatever Abraham Van Helsing did or didn't do…it was I who plunged the knife into his gut._

Jeremiah then stood but Tara's first instincts, that he was going to strike her, were quickly dispelled when he extended his hand. She reached out and placed hers atop it. He then lifted it to his lips and pressed the tiniest of kisses to the back of her hand.

"I want you to know that I hold no grudges against you," Jeremiah said, intentionally keeping his voice firm to ensure Tara realised he was serious. "No matter what others may say, you are no longer that demon…you are Tara Maclay once more…and you are my friend."

"T-thank you," Tara whispered, sincerely touched by his kindness.

She excused herself before she could give into tears once more, even though this time the tears would not have been sorrowful, and made her way to the guest room down the hall. The appearance of the room was immaterial to Tara, she could see that it contained a bed and that was more than she needed. Although she had been feeling weary ever since the spell ended, it was only when she folded herself atop the bed that she realised just how absolutely drained of energy she was.

When she closed her eyes, images of the redhead who had dominated her entire life filled her mind. As she drifted off to sleep, she knew that Willow's face would be the only one in her dreams.

* * *

When Tara woke she found, with some measure of disappointment, that night still lingered outside. As exhausted as the resurrection spell had left her, her dreams made sleep impossible for more than a few hours at a time. She sat and lingered on the bed for a few moments as though contemplating staying before swinging her legs over the side of the bed and standing with an air of purpose. It was time to leave the comfort and safety of Giles's house and return to the night where she belonged.

Before she left, she paused at the threshold to the room where Giles lay recuperating. The door was ajar and the chair beside the bed empty. Jeremiah had obviously retired to his own bed after reassuring himself that Giles was not about to suddenly stop breathing. She did not quite know why she had brought herself into the presence of the man who despised her. After a few moments of staring at his sleeping form she realised that the sight of her would hardly be conducive a swift recovery for a weakened Giles. She was sure his tongue was still just as acidic while he was lying down.

Even as she went to turn around she saw his eyes open, he was staring directly at her. Neither vampire nor man spoke for a few moments. Tara could not think of anything to say to extricate herself from the situation in haste so she just stood up to his blank gaze.

When he finally did speak he surprised Tara with the tone and content of his words. "I know you saved my life during that spell…and I thank you for that."

Tara inclined her head slightly, still too taken aback to say anything in response to Giles's change of heart.

"I would also like to apologise for my treatment of you earlier." Giles sat up slightly, propping himself up on his elbows. "You have suffered more than enough already. Do not mistake my apology for forgiveness however."

"I do not expect you to forgive me," Tara was quick to interrupt, she moved forward and retrieved several pillows from the floor beside the bed, as Giles leant forward she tucked them gently behind his back. "But that will never stop me trying to atone for the crimes I committed while I was a demon. Giles, I wish to aid you and Jeremiah in your work."

"Why?" Giles asked quietly.

"I need an occupation," Tara admitted. "And it would seem to be the only thing I am qualified for…that and the fact that I would otherwise spend my days waiting…longing for Willow's return. Given that it could be a very long wait, it would be a wasted life."

"We have done our part, "Giles nodded. "The resurrection will be brought about when the time is right."

Tara nodded in agreement although it was an action which did not mirror her inward feelings. More than anything she wanted Willow to stroll back into the world immediately, as fully formed and beautiful as she had been that day at the Marlborough's picnic. It was a fool's dream, the world did not work in that manner…and the Willow that was reborn would not be the woman she had loved. Tara closed her eyes for just a second and brought her face into view, she inhaled deeply, as though she could smell her intoxicating fragrance.

When she opened her eyes once more she saw the look of pity on Giles's face and remembered the tragic creature that she was. When Willow was finally reborn, she would be reduced to the role of voyeur, forever looking in on a life which was not hers to be a part of. It would be a heartbreaking existence…but at least she would have the pleasure of the knowledge that Willow was alive once more.

"Tara…" Giles paused as though he could not quite believe he had addressed her by that name instead of 'demon' or 'it.' "If there is any assistance I can provide…or Jeremiah for that matter. He worships you, you know."

Tara nodded slightly. "I thank you Giles…and Jeremiah also, but if I depend overly on your goodwill any chance I have of reintegrating myself into the demon community will be lost and my value to you and your work will be sorely diminished."

"Where will you go now?" Giles asked quietly. Although he knew Tara was more than capable of protecting herself, he was beginning to feel some measure of responsibility towards her. Perhaps she had suffered enough already.

Tara's soft expression changed and took on a razor sharp edge, when she spoke her voice was tinged with iron. "I believe my beloved husband would be overjoyed to see me after all these years."


	31. Death and Rebirth

**Chapter 31  
Death and Rebirth**

_**1829**_

It had been over four decades since Tara had last laid eyes on the man responsible for the humiliating and heartbreaking period at the end of her mortal life. Although the experience had been relatively brief, it was now another scar that Tara had to carry with her, deeply etched into the fabric of her life. As a demon, her marriage held little consequence for her and was forgotten in the face of the larger and more interesting work around the skull and Willow Van Helsing. Edward Walsh had lain dormant at the back of her mind, resurfacing only when her soul was restored and she was capable of recognising those memories as being exceptionally painful. Throughout the years spent in her physically and emotionally dark prison, she had used the memories of what Edward had done to her as a form of punishment. She forced herself to relieve each moment, from the gut-wrenching expression on Willow's face when she chose to marry Edward to the merciless manner in which he had forced himself on her every night of their short marriage. It had been effective torture indeed.

Tara was not expecting to find any sort of closure in a confrontation with Edward. Even as she stood on the footpath, staring up at his impressively ornate mansion, she could not decide exactly why she was there. Revenge of course played foremost in her mind. She was a creature of the night, un-dead and possessed with an inhuman strength, more than enough strength to punish Edward for what he had done to her. However, as she stood in front of his home she could not see herself murdering an old man, regardless of the severity of his past crimes.

Whatever sort of man Edward Walsh had been upon his return from Europe with news of his dead bride, it appeared not to have affected the rest of his life. Tara remembered Giles telling her that Edward was a long-serving and successful, if not universally well-liked, politician. She had never cared for such petty affairs of mortals but from the appearance of his home she had to guess that he had done extremely well for himself. This could not help but stir the bitter pangs of regret in her heart. Obviously Edward had done what he needed to be happy in life…whereas she had chosen to suffer for her family.

There were few lights glowing from the windows of the Walsh residence but Tara remembered Edward as a man who preferred to stay awake throughout the night and sleep through much of the day. She stood gazing up at a second floor window light by the dim glow of several candles and instinctively knew that was where she would find him. Tara concentrated; slowly her body lost any semblance of solidity as she morphed into her incorporeal form. The ability to shape shift was an ability possessed only by the most powerful vampires. For Tara it had been a strange development following her release from her cell, as it seemed to contradict the augmentation of her humanity.

Still, the ability was proving useful, no more so than as she slipped through a slight gap beneath a window and into the room beyond. Her instincts had been correct; sitting at a desk on the far side of the room was none other than Edward Walsh himself. While he was of a similar age to Abraham Van Helsing, the years had obviously been far kinder to Edward Walsh. Despite his advancing age his face possessed none of the haggard lines and sagging skin that had so marked Abraham. The lines etched into his brow were faint and his jowls were plump from a life of good living.

Tara reformed un-noticed in one shadowed corner of the room, content to observe him for a few moments before announcing her presence. He was working steadily on the papers in front of him with a diligence and concentration she had only seen him apply to drinking, eating and bed sports.

"Hello, Edward."

His reaction was immediate, his head jerked upwards towards the sound of her voice and as he did so his entire body jerked. The quill he held fell from his fingers and he then sat completely frozen in his chair as he peered into the shadows in which she stood.

"Who is there?" he demanded, his whining tone had changed little over the years.

Tara had to fight to keep her breathing even as she heard him speak, remembering the sound all too well. She knew that he would remember her voice and watched the play of emotions across his face as he struggled to understand how that could be.

"You know exactly who it is, Edward," Tara replied evenly.

When no further words were forthcoming from his mouth, Tara stepped from the shadows and into the glow of the candle. The light was swallowed by her dark clothing but illuminated her pale skin and hair with a frightening intensity. In front of her Edward froze, the only part of him that moved was his furiously blinking eyes as though he hoped she would disappear.

His whispered response was predictable. "You are dead."

"I am." It was nothing short of the truth.

Edward slowly pushed his chair back from his desk and stood on a pair of legs that were shaking due to fear as opposed to frailty. He kept both his hands on the desk in front of him to steady himself. Since discovering that no amount of blinking would make her presence leave, his eyes remained large, almost feverish as he stared at her.

"In the years following your death I expected to be visited by your ghost seeking vengeance," Edward began, his voice growing steadier with each word. "Eventually I believed that you were just as weak in death as you had been in life and I had nothing to fear…I see now that I was wrong. Although if you are here to haunt me you will have a short time in which to do so, I am not as young as I was."

"Vengeance," Tara repeated the word in a stony voice, enjoying the way the word rolled off her tongue but still unsure as to what it meant for her. "I would think that I would be entitled to vengeance after the hell you put me through."

"I did not kill you," Edward pointed out.

It was at that point that Tara felt the hate surging through her body and she fervently wished she had brought a weapon of some sort to slit the foul coward open before he opened his mouth to debate his role in her death.

"You drove me out into the night!" Tara growled in response. She saw her tone have an immediate effect on Edward as he blanched a whiter shade of pale. "I preferred being alone, outdoors in the middle of the night in a foreign country over being inside, barred in the same room with you!"

"Female foolishness!" Edward managed to snarl. "It was that foolishness which led to your death!"

"I was dead long before that night in Austria," Tara continued. "Destroyed by your cruelty. When I was attacked I was terrified beyond belief…but a part of me longed for my suffering to be at an end!" _Little did I know, it was only the beginning. _

She moved several steps across the polished floor, purposely creating footsteps that were loud enough for him to hear clearly in order to dispel the notion he had that she was merely a ghost in his presence. His eyes bulged in his head and he struggled to draw in enough air as he began to panic.

"You were an abomination!" Edward shrieked. His voice was reedy and thin through his constant wheezing. "You and that Van Helsing girl!"

"I suppose you think it was treatment I deserved?" Tara asked quietly, remaining calm, refusing to raise her voice. "Tell me Edward, did you find yourself another wife?"

"Yes," he replied stiffly. "My wife has since passed away…but we had three children together. I also have seven grandchildren."

"A fine legacy," Tara commented bitterly.

"Please leave," he demanded, his voice carrying very little authority in his fear. "I know you cannot harm me, you are a pathetic shade. The dead hold no power over the living!"

"The dead hold sway over all!" Tara whispered fiercely before suddenly surging forward as though her feet were not touching the floor, effortlessly she leapt over the desk and reached out for Edward Walsh's throat. His eyes bulged once more as her icy fingers closed around his flesh and the chair was knocked aside as she thrust him roughly against the wall at his back

Edward tried to lash out, to wrestle her weight from his but he found himself up against a physical strength he did not anticipate. "What are you?"

Tara cocked her head to one side, studying him for a moment, enjoying the feeling of fear radiating from him. "You feel my fingers around your throat, Edward? That should tell you that I am not a harmless shade."

"You are dead!" he stubbornly repeated his first statement.

"No, my dear Edward," Tara squeezed the leathery flesh at his throat and felt her nails pierce the skin, "I am undead - a state rather different from being dead and one for which you should feel a very palpable fear."

She peeled her lips back from her teeth in a wide snarl, offering Edward the opportunity to get closer to a pair of fangs than he ever wanted to be. He shrank backwards, trying to move away from the unnaturally pointed teeth as though expecting her to sink them into his throat.

"You need not fear my drinking your blood. I would rather drink from a live pig than suck on the foul stuff that runs through your veins!"

"You are a monster!"

"No more so than you," Tara said coldly. "I will spend the rest of my days atoning for crimes I committed as a soulless demon. Have you atoned for your crimes, Edward?"

"I have committed none!" he protested in a thin voice.

"You forced yourself on me repeatedly and brutally. Every night I struggled to avoid your fists striking my flesh for the merest transgression. If it is not a crime to treat your wife in such a manner then what is it?" Tara demanded, her voice retaining its quiet tone but taking on a hard edge. Anger boiled in her veins and the demon in her longed to snap Edward's fleshy neck.

Edward's voice was firm despite his fear, as though he were speaking a well-learned mantra. "It is a woman's duty to submit to her husband!"

The carefully constructed wall of control restraining Tara from within crumbled instantly. She released her hold on his neck only to seize him by the lapels of his waistcoat. In one swift movement she picked him up and threw his entire body over the desk. Edward hit the ground like a sack of old bones, crumpling to the ground instantly. Tara followed him, stooping to seize him by his wig before he could attempt to stand under his own power.

As she dragged him upwards, Edward Walsh looked nothing more than a terrified old man staring in the face of his own death…a death at the hands of a monster. In that moment Tara realised that killing Edward Walsh would undo all the effort it had taken her to restore a fragile semblance of her humanity. Although killing him would initially provide some sense of satisfaction and perhaps even closure, Tara knew that in the long-term such an act would do more harm than good. There may still have been a monster inside her, but she could prove her humanity by showing an amount of compassion to a man as despicable as Edward Walsh.

She thrust him away from her, glad to no longer be in contact with his slimy skin. He immediately cringed back against the wall behind him as though he expected a killing blow to come at any moment. Even though none came, he remained terrified, unable to tear his gaze away from Tara's burning gaze.

However frightful her appearance, on the inside Tara felt fragile and emotional. She could only maintain her withering stare in Edward Walsh's direction for a brief moment longer before she felt tears of frustration and pain burn at the corners of her eyes. Clearly she could not remain emotionless and detached in front of the man who had briefly been her husband, not when his image so easily dragged up memories of what he had done to her.

Trying to make the act appear as effortless as possible, she once again shifted in her non-corporeal form with Edward watching, terrified at such a transformation. He was still frozen against the wall when Tara drifted back out the window. She left Walsh's house as fast as she was able.

* * *

Several weeks following her encounter with Edward, Tara was stalking the streets of London in the early hours of the morning. She had to confess that lately all she longed for was a soft bed upon which to sleep but in order to keep up pretences she at least had to feign interest in feeding. She was tired of creeping about in the shadows and this night was particularly damp and unpleasant with a stiff breeze fluttering at her skirts and nipping her exposed skin with its cold bite. Although she usually barely noticed the cold, the wind left her drained and listless.

A single page from a newspaper that had been picked up by the breeze collided with her leg and interrupted her thoughts. Although Tara was not normally inclined to read the usually irrelevant newspapers, for some reason she stooped and retrieved this particular page. Her eyes immediately wandered to an announcement in bold near the foot of the page.

_MP Edward Walsh found dead in home._

Tara continued reading to find that Edward had died in his office. Investigators had found no sign of an intruder and had ruled out foul play to proclaim his death 'sudden but natural.' She then glanced to the date beneath the headline to find that it was the day following her visit. As she crumpled the paper in her fist and tossed it in the gutter she realised that the news was somewhat anticlimactic. She felt neither relief nor pleasure at the news of his death. It was certainly not the death Edward had deserved but she knew she could never have given him that death. The death that would have led to a much larger, more sensational headline with a story packed with enticing words like 'blood' and 'murder.'

As it was, Edward had died alone with her face being the last image in his mind. With this thought Tara was finally able to feel a small measure of satisfaction.

Edward Walsh was dead. Tara decided that she would slip into an empty hotel room and fall asleep, safe in the knowledge that there would be one less face to see in her dreams.

* * *

_**1872**_

The imposing façade of the recently completed British Museum loomed over Great Russell Street, and in particular over three small figures ascending the steps and passing beneath its neo-classical columns. While a man and woman walked at a more sedate pace, a young girl rushed ahead as only excited children could.

Once inside she knew exactly where she was going, threading her way through the light crowd in the lobby, grinning at an attendant as she made a beeline directly for a door marked 'employees only.' The door had closed behind her before either adult had a chance to catch up, or offer her some wise words of caution. They followed, the man holding the door open for the woman. She smiled at him as she passed as one did when in love. Despite the advancing years of the man, the grin that followed made him seem youthful and spirited. He carried a sizable bag in one hand with apparently little effort.

Up ahead, the young girl had reached the employees only floor and was happily making her way through the staff going about their business. No one stopped to question the twelve year old on her business, instead many greeted her warmly.

"Well if it isn't young Lara Croft," a white-coated man with a white beard to match asked. His teeth shone just as white. "How are your Latin conjugations coming along?"

Twelve year old Lara immediately made a face in response. "The subjunctive imperfect is giving me a frightful headache."

He laughed and she continued on her way, almost breaking into a run when she saw her destination in the distance. She entered the employee's library, a place far more fascinating than any other she had ever visited, in the pretext of looking for Rupert Giles. Her deep brown eyes roamed the shelves of books. The fact that she did not call out for the librarian indicated that she was not overly bothered whether she found him or not. She drifted towards the shelves laden with books, her hungry eyes roaming over the titles on the thick spines. Every so often she paused to reach out and stroke a particular book, running her fingers over the embossed leather with an expression akin to rapture.

"Are you supposed to be in here?" a soft voice interrupted her reverie.

Lara Croft drew back her fingers as though she had just been burned and spun on her heels in the direction of the voice. When she saw who had spoken she had to blink a few times to confirm exactly what it was she was seeing. Emerging from the shadows between two of the stacks was a young woman, clad entirely in black from the floor to her throat. Her long pale hair framed a pair of blue eyes which shone even in the library's poor light.

Normally exceptionally quick to reply, Lara was confused. This stranger did prompt her to react with the reluctant obedience and forced politeness that she normally resorted to in the company of adults. She managed to suppress the strange fear the woman's presence stirred within her and responded with barely concealed insolence, testing the woman to see how she would react.

"Of course," Lara replied impertinently. "Are you?"

Much to Lara's surprise the blonde woman did not immediately chastise her. Instead she did something far worse, she continued to stare at her with those piercing blue eyes, as though she was seeing straight past the expression she wore and through to what she was thinking. Lara felt decidedly uncomfortable beneath such intense scrutiny. Had she been less bold, she would have torn her gaze away to stare at her feet.

As she stared back at the woman she realised that there was something exceptionally unusual about her. At first Lara had merely thought her pale, but her skin was actually verging on being translucent. Her hair was so pale a shade of blonde that it might as well have been white. Before the woman could reply or she could ask another question, Lara heard more footsteps in the library. She turned and immediately wrinkled her nose, her parents had joined her.

Jeremiah Croft glared in at his daughter with an expression that was supposed to be disapproving; however he merely appeared mildly amused. Before he could channel his disapproval into a scolding, he glanced beyond Lara to see a familiar face, one he had not seen for a long time.

"Tara!" he exclaimed like a giddy schoolboy. "You have not changed one iota since I saw you last!"

He quickly let go of the bag he was holding and picked up her proffered hand. As he bent to lay a gentle kiss on the back of her hand he glanced up at her with a twinkle in his eye, as though deciding that was not the greeting he wished to bestow on his old friend. Instead he embraced Tara warmly and kissed her gently on one pale, cold cheek. When he stepped back there was a red flush to his own cheeks.

"Neither have you," Tara replied, faint traces of a smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

Jeremiah's grin was blatant as he patted his slightly rotund belly. "It is kind of you to say…but it has been almost fifteen years."

"Closer to twenty…you were still a bachelor the last time I saw you," Tara commented, well aware of the others in the room - the shy woman standing nervously just behind Jeremiah's shoulder and the young girl with whom she had already had the dubious pleasure of trading a few words.

"Yes!" Jeremiah said excitedly, as though he had forgotten the most important event that had happened in his life since he last saw Tara. "It all makes for a rather funny story really…I had just delivered a paper to the Royal Society. It was splendidly received of course but in the midst of all the scholarly veneration, surrounded by grey haired old gits, I suddenly realised that there was still one thing in life I had neglected to achieve – marriage and children!"

"And naturally you could not leave something like that unachieved," Tara added conspiratorially.

"Of course not!" Jeremiah grinned, "So I marched up to Charlotte, who was the daughter of a very good friend and asked her if she would very much mind marrying me…right in the middle of the reception…and much to my surprise she agreed on the spot."

Charlotte smiled shyly and nodded in agreement as Jeremiah gave her a quick squeeze around the waist. "The old fool was too blind to notice…I had been making eyes at him for years, dropping all the appropriate hints and making excuses to be with him," Charlotte was softly spoken but her voice was tinged with humour and more than a little good-natured teasing. "He was exceptionally lucky that I have always been a very patient woman."

Tara held out her hand with a small but warm smile on her face. After a moments hesitation, Charlotte reached out and took it in her own, if she was surprised at just how cold Tara's hand was then she did not let it show on her face. Instead, she returned the smile. In the relatively short period of time that had passed, Tara had already decided that Charlotte was the perfect woman for Jeremiah. While her attire indicated that she was a woman of simple tastes, she possessed a radiant natural beauty.

"And you have already met our daughter Lara." Jeremiah nodded towards the dark-haired girl.

Jeremiah's daughter appeared to be at an awkward stage in her development. While it was very clear that one day she was going to be lithe and as exceptionally beautiful as her mother she currently possessed a set of gangly limbs and both her eyes and her lips were too big for her face. She was staring up at Tara with an expression on her face that reminded Tara all too well of a young Jeremiah with his curiosity in full flight. Tara was waiting for the entirely inappropriate question that was bound to follow. However, young Lara remained content to stare brazenly, obviously fascinated.

"Charlotte, Lara, this is a good friend of mine…and Giles's…Tara Maclay. She has been…abroad for a good many years."

"You certainly do not look as old as my father!" Lara interjected brazenly.

"Ah…we also have a son," Jeremiah interrupted his daughter, placing a warning hand on her shoulder. "Archie. We're rather proud of him actually. He is doing exceptionally well at Oxford."

"I would expect nothing less from a son of yours," Tara replied warmly.

All three members of the Croft family were staring intently at Tara. Jeremiah found himself reverting back to when his was sixteen and his pleasant memories of a youthful infatuation with the vampire. The resumption of his infatuation was aided by the fact that she had not changed at all in the years since he had last seen her. If Tara found the Croft's scrutiny unnerving, she did not let it show.

"Why are you so pale?" Lara asked suddenly.

"Um…" Jeremiah stepped forward between his daughter and Tara and struggled to find an appropriate reply other than the truth. It was clear that the girl was not content with the simple introduction her father had offered in stating little more than Tara's name.

"My apologies," Tara broke the silence recognising both the needs of her guests and the fact that Jeremiah obviously did not want to have to answer his daughter's questions. "I have been out of civilised company for so long I have forgotten my manners…can I offer you tea?"

"I would love nothing more but Charlotte and I are off to Egypt for a month or so and Giles is always kind enough to watch over Lara whenever we go abroad…he takes his duties as a grandfather very seriously," Jeremiah answered, glancing quickly at his pocket watch. "Our ship departs in a few hours. Might I be able to impose on you to watch over Lara until his return?"

"It would not be the least imposition," Tara responded with a wary smile in Lara's direction. She already suspected that the young girl was more than a handful for Giles.

Charlotte stooped to embrace Lara warmly, when she pulled back she rubbed at an imaginary spot of dirt on her cheek. "Sweetie, you will be on your best behaviour as always…and promise me you will desist with your constant questioning?"

Lara merely nodded perfunctorily, not seeming the least bit concerned that her parents were about to leave her for an unspecified amount of time. She actually appeared impatient for them to be gone, as though she could not wait to be alone with the mysterious friend of her father's. Both her parents bid Tara a warm farewell and then they were gone. Lara sighed with relief when the library door closed behind them. She loved her parents dearly but they were so dreadfully stifling with rules and whatnot. At the age of twelve she felt more than old enough to accompany them on their far flung adventures but they would hear none of it, and insisted on bundling her off to stay with Giles.

When she was younger, she did not mind these arrangements in the least. The thought of travelling great distances by boat and train had held little appeal and she was far more content to explore the Museum. As she grew older however, she began to realise that the museum's treasures came from somewhere else, places far away and she began to long for those distant shores.

Still, as she glanced back towards Tara, she began to think that this particular stay might be a little more interesting than the last. The pale woman was regarding her with a strange look, as though she were not quite sure exactly what to do. Lara on the other hand knew exactly what she wanted – to find out more information about this strange yet compelling woman.

"There are more than a few things I do not understand. Like you for instance, you say you're an old friend of my father and yet you look barely older than me." Lara commented on her observations with a suspicious frown on her face. "Just how old are you?"

"I look good for my age," was all Tara was prepared to say. Lara's disappointment manifested in an angry scowl but she tactfully steered any further conversation away from herself. "You must spend a great deal of time with Giles. Do you wish to become a librarian?"

"Good lord no, how dreadfully boring," Lara replied quite sagely. "I have already decided that I shall attend Oxford. Archie has promised to put in a good word for me. After graduation I shall travel the world, raiding tombs and uncovering all the mysteries of the ancient world!"

Tara arched an eyebrow. "All of them?"

Lara shrugged with a wry grin. "At least as many as I can."

"I wish you well in that goal; from experience I know that there are many mysteries-" Tara had to cut herself short as she felt a wave of dizziness accompanied by a hot flush surge through her body. For someone who barely felt temperature, it was an unnerving experience.

She was forced to lean on a nearby reading table to keep from falling over as young Lara looked on with a worried frown on her face.

"Are you quite alright?"

"I-I'm not sure," Tara replied awkwardly. She had no idea what was responsible for the sensations coursing through her body. At first she thought perhaps she might be under attack, a spell of some sort cast over a distance. She glanced across at Lara, worried that she might be at risk. "Stand back."

However as time passed, even when she was forced to close her eyes, Tara began to realise that what was happening to her was not a bad thing. The feelings throughout her body were not foreign, they were all too familiar. A fragrance met her nostrils, one she remembered despite the passage of time. She closed her eyes and lost herself to the wave of emotions and feelings that told her without a doubt that Willow had been reborn.

When Tara finally opened her eyes she managed a smile of reassurance in Lara's direction. She then looked towards the door to see Rupert Giles entering with an armful of packages. Although he also had not seen her for a good number of years, there was no surprise on his face when he saw her standing in the middle of his library with young Lara Croft. If he too knew what had just taken place, then it did not show on his face.

"Ah, I see you have met my finest and most attentive student…well, at least attentive when it suits her," Giles commented, placing his packages down on the nearest table. He addressed Lara, "I believe you will have some studying to do while I catch up with my old friend?"

Lara looked as though she might refuse but eventually she retrieved several books from the bag her father had left and retired to a study table. With her back turned, the two adults were free to talk in hushed tones.

"You felt it, did you not?" Giles asked.

Tara nodded. "Yes…you too? Where is she?"

"The Rosenberg's live in India; I believe the father is in the army…" Giles began.

"Rosenberg?" Tara repeated the name, it sounded horribly unfamiliar to her lips. However she quickly realised that it was foolish of her to think that Willow would be a Van Helsing. She tried the name again. "Willow Rosenberg."

She desperately wanted to pester Giles for more information about the family, the sort of people they were but she knew he would not answer all her questions for the very simple reason that he did not want her to know. Tara sighed quietly, knowing that it would require an inhuman amount of patience to remain apart from Willow's new life.

"So it begins," Giles commented, glancing over his shoulder to see Lara quickly duck her head as though she had been straining to listen in on their conversation. He turned his attention back to Tara, saw the expression on her face and realised he needed to get her to concentrate on something other than Willow…for the next few decades at least.

"Yes." Tara paused for a moment until Lara was buried in her books once more, or at least pretending to be. "I need a copy of the _Morte Grimoire_. Can I pretend to have stolen yours?"

Giles smirked at the odd sounding phrase. "Of course…as long as I am able to steal it back before someone causes some serious damage. That book contains some powerful magic."

"You do not need to remind me, Giles," Tara replied with a trace of annoyance in her voice.

He nodded and went to fetch the Grimoire. As soon as Giles disappeared into the stacks, Lara's head glanced up from her books. Confirming he was indeed gone, she hopped off her chair and skipped casually to Tara's side with a hopeful smile on her face.

"You will stay and help me with my Latin…won't you?" Lara asked eagerly. "Please?"

Tara's eyebrows lifted in surprise as she wondered just what it was that she had done to make this child crave her company. A small part of her did want to be able to stay, to have nothing more to worry about save helping a twelve year old conjugate Latin verbs.

"I am afraid my Latin is very poor." Tara explained gently. _Unless you want to weave dark magick…a skill I am sure Giles would not want me to show you. _"When I was your age girls were not allowed to study Latin…or much of anything save embroidery and tea making."

Lara's lips opened in a perfect, outraged pout. "That's positively barbarous!" she declared indignantly.

Tara could not help but smile in response. The young girl had spirit, definitely reminding her of a certain redhead who at this time was once again a squalling infant. However she knew she could not stay, it would not do for her relationship to Giles to be discovered. Not yet anyway. "I am afraid I have important business to attend to…but I am sure I will find occasion to come to the Museum again soon."

"Please do!" Lara clapped her hands together enthusiastically; there was a distinct twinkle in her eyes. "I love Giles immensely but he can be so exceptionally strict at times, I have no doubt that you would be more fun."

Tara arched an eyebrow at Lara's assessment of her as being 'more fun' than Giles. Given that she had shown absolutely no inclination towards 'fun' of any sort during the short time Lara had known her, she wasn't sure how the young girl had come to that conclusion. She was however able to appreciate the significance of Lara's decision, realising that she had just added to the rather small number of people she was able to call 'friends.'

"Well, I have no doubt that the 'fun' will commence with my next visit," Tara offered helpfully. She surprised herself when she extended her hand towards Lara for the young girl to shake. "It was a pleasure to meet you."

It was at that point that Giles returned with the book Tara had requested. He frowned at the rather pleased expression on Lara's face before a well placed nod sent her scurrying back to her books. When he glanced back to Tara he saw a strange look in the vampire's eyes and knew exactly whom she was thinking about.

"You will promise to stay away from her won't you, Tara?" Giles cautioned. He kept his voice extremely firm as he knew just how strong the connection between the two of them was. "It will do her no good to feel as though she is being watched…and it will do you no good either."

Tara appeared stricken for a moment before she managed to compose herself. "She'll need protecting. If Dracula should learn…"

"He doesn't," Giles said firmly. "No doubt that will remain the case throughout her childhood but if he does learn of her birth, you will of course be the first to know."

She nodded, Giles as always was a voice of reason. His face changed slightly, almost as though he was giving her a reassuring smile. She accepted the Grimoire with a relieved expression on her face. Whatever sort of relationship existed between the two of them, at the very least there was trust.

Tara left the British museum with a strange feeling coursing through her body. Normally she avoided crowded streets and public areas, especially in the day. She preferred to remain in the shadows, on the fringes of society. However on this particular day she felt compelled to remain in the midst of the throng that walked Great Russell Street, even allowing herself to be swept along towards a small park just across the road from the museum. She settled herself on a vacant bench, content to watch people stroll through the park and feel the sun on her face.

It took her a while to realise exactly what the emotion surging through her veins was, but when she thought about it for a moment Tara realised that she was actually happy. When she left the bench to continue on her way, she was secure in the knowledge that the world was a far richer place with Willow in it.


	32. Past and Present

**Chapter Thirty-Two  
Past and Present**

_**1890**_

More than anything, Lara Croft hated being an object of other people's pity. This feeling was exacerbated by the fact that she had spent her life being as self-reliant as possible, travelling alone whenever possible and remaining unmarried even as she turned thirty. She preferred to be alone - or at least she had spent most of her life convincing herself that was what she preferred.

She had overheard gossip of course - museum patrons and sponsors, busy bodies with too much time on their hands and little sense. Since her appointment as Director three years earlier, the gossip had not ceased. It had only become more wildly speculative as she refused to give them any information. What puzzled them all the most was the obvious fact that the Director was undoubtedly a stunningly beautiful woman who could have her pick of eligible men, both handsome and wealthy.

That much was true; Lara had had many suitors over the years but she had turned them all down without batting her magnificent eyelashes. The fact that she was not undesirable should have given her some satisfaction but Lara had never cared for such trifles. She had long felt that the number of men who wanted her was entirely unimportant…but it was the number of women she wanted, and couldn't have, that occupied her thoughts more recently. The realisation that she was attracted to women did not overly bother Lara Croft, what did bother her was that it meant she could no longer convince herself she preferred to be alone.

The accident in Australia six months previously had made the situation even worse in terms of pity…and women. Last week Lara had reluctantly hired a new field agent for the Museum. It was a relatively simple act, staff were hired frequently…but this particular appointment hit Lara like a slap in the face. She was replacing herself.

She had hired the new employee based solely on reports of her work and her credentials but she was now wishing she had laid eyes on the woman first. All the practical skills and field experience in the world could not make up for the fact that the woman was an ill-disciplined rogue with no respect for authority whatsoever. She was brazen, tempestuous, uncouth and worst of all she was the most beautiful woman Lara had ever had the misfortune of laying her eyes on. Her name was Faith Winters.

Lara watched her now from one of the balconies in the employee library as she listened to Giles delivering an induction speech. Even from her perch high above, Lara could see the obvious look of boredom on Faith's face as Giles droned on about the Museum's illustrious history. Clearly standing in one place and listening to others talk was not Faith's preferred occupation. Beneath the tight fitting clothes she wore, every inch of her body appeared tensed and ready for action. Lara shut her eyes tightly but she could still see Faith's generous breasts straining against the white shirt and leather jacket she wore, her cleavage clearly showing in an entirely inappropriate manner.

When Lara opened her eyes once more, she was mortified to find the young woman staring straight up at the balcony, as though she had confirmed her suspicions that she was being watched. Giles was still droning on, oblivious, but Faith's expression had changed from one of boredom to smouldering excitement. Her lips parted slightly in a knowing smile.

As soon as Lara felt the first wave of heat flood her body she made a hasty retreat…as hasty as she could manage in her wheelchair. Although Giles had designed a chair in which she could propel herself rather than suffer the indignity of being pushed, it was still awkward. She made her way from the balcony and into the private elevator that led directly to her office. As she slammed the door across and jabbed the button she let out an angry snort, disgusted with herself for allowing Faith to get to her. Moments later the elevator ceased its whirring and stopped at her office, even before she slid the door open she could see Cordelia Chase poised at her desk, waiting to pounce in case she needed something.

Her secretary was already at the elevator door before she could say something, sliding it open for her.

Lara made a quick 'shooing' motion. "I am quite capable of managing a door thank you, Cordelia."

"I am sure you are," Cordelia replied smoothly, indicating that she did not agree with Lara's statement, she held open the door to Lara's private room and ignored the angry expression on her employer's face.

Something inside the office caught her attention even as she held the door open. The room was not empty. Standing in one corner was a pale blonde woman. Cordelia frowned; she had not let anyone through the door.

"Who the devil are you?" Cordelia demanded in outrage, she turned quickly to Lara as she moved through the door. "I am terribly sorry Director Croft, I could swear no one had come in here…and I have not left my desk all morning."

"It is quite alright, Cordelia," Lara replied with a curt nod. "The visitor is expected."

Cordelia frowned. "There is nothing in your diary."

"Nevertheless, she is expected," Lara said firmly. "That will be all."

"Shall I bring you tea, lunch…?"

"That will be all, Cordelia," Lara repeated even more firmly.

With another angry frown, Cordelia departed and closed the door behind her to leave Lara alone in the room with her mysterious visitor. She propelled her wheelchair slightly closer so she could see her more clearly. It was obvious that Tara Maclay had not changed at all since their last meeting; even the clothes she was wearing appeared to be exactly the same.

"You were not expected," Lara said quietly, a trace of warmth in her voice. "But you are still very welcome…and long overdue for a visit I might add."

Tara inclined her head slightly in apology. "You will understand the reason for my absence."

"Of course," Lara whispered.

Tara crossed the room until she was standing just in front of Lara; she studied the chair and then looked back up to Lara's drawn, tired face. Her concern was clear in her expression.

Lara shrugged as though it was all of little concern. "After so many years of thinking myself indestructible it finally became apparent that I am not."

Without prompting, Lara reached to lift her skirts away from her legs. She pulled them up to reveal that her left leg had been badly mauled, almost beyond recognition. The wound was clearly recent, still partially unhealed and the scars in the flesh were deep and red. Tara immediately dropped to the floor in front of Lara, without asking permission she reached out her pale hands and tenderly laid them on Lara's torn flesh. She felt Lara wince but did not remove them.

"Demon hound?" Tara inquired without looking up.

"No…a very ordinary, non-demon crocodile, in goddamn Australia," Lara replied through gritted teeth, she drew in a quick breath. "Lovely country..."

"The damage to the muscles is extensive," Tara whispered as she gently probed the injury.

"Oh, is that why I can't walk," Lara commented bitterly.

Tara ignored her friend's bitter statement altogether, knowing that it had arisen from an understandable pain and frustration. She continued to probe at the wound, tentatively reaching out with her magicks to delve within Lara's body and see the extent of the damage. Tara drew in a reluctant breath, although she could not afford to give false hope, she also could not sit back and watch Lara suffer without at least exploring the possibilities.

She glanced up at Lara and saw that the brief examination had given her a faint glimmer of hope already.

"I cannot promise anything and I must warn you my magicks are…tainted. You may feel extremely unpleasant, if not physically sick." Tara paused as though reconsidering her offer, she could no longer meet Lara's hopefully gaze. "I am sorry…I do not know if it is worth the risk."

Tara suddenly felt warm hands grasping one of her own. She looked down at them to find Lara's hands wrapped around her fingers, squeezing tightly.

"Please try," Lara whispered with a slight catch in her voice. "Any risk is worth it. You have no idea how frustrating it is to be confined to this goddamn chair."

Tara was able to meet Lara's gaze once more, she nodded once and then closed her eyes. As she drew on her power she immediately felt the taint of it. Before her soul had been returned the taint had held no consequence for her, however subsequently she felt it coursing through her veins like thick, muddy water. She felt Lara shudder slightly and knew she felt it too.

Working as quickly as possible, Tara visualised the injury on an internal level. She concentrated all her power on repairing what had been severed. As time went by she felt Lara's spasms increase steadily and she heard small whimpers that gradually became cries of pain. The time came where Tara had to choose between continuing to work on the injury and doing Lara permanent damage of another kind. She held on for as long as possible before abruptly breaking contact as she felt Lara sag beneath her touch.

When Tara opened her eyes she found the scars were still present, perhaps lacking a little redness, but just as deep and awful. A broken sigh escaped her lips and for a moment she could not look up and meet Lara in the eyes.

Eventually she did. There was a thin sheen of sweat covering Lara's face and neck as though she had just run a great distance. However her eyes were bright and alert and there was a small smile on her face.

"Lara…" Tara tried to apologize.

Lara reached out and placed her shaking hand on Tara's shoulder. Then, with an obvious amount of pain she rose to her feet and straightened unsteadily. Tara stood in tandem with Lara so she could continue use her shoulder as a support. Once confident on her own feet, Lara lowered her hand and made agonizing but steady steps towards her desk on the other side of the room.

"I am truly sorry that I could not do more, Lara," Tara whispered as she watched Lara cling to the edge of her desk for support. "If I had come sooner."

"Well…" Lara drew in a deep breath as though trying to reign in her disappointment, by the time she exhaled she was able to manage a small smile. "I would have written, asking you to come but you don't exactly keep a fixed address." She removed her hands from the desk and turned to face the blonde vampire, her smile remaining. "Tara, I can walk…I may not ever be able to climb mountains again…or go back to Australia and teach that bloody crocodile a lesson…but I can walk, and that will have to be enough for me. Thank you."

Tara nodded even though her disappointment on Lara's behalf still registered on her face. She knew the adventurous life her friend led would now have to end. It was a crushing blow for a woman who truly felt alive only when she was pushing her body to the limit.

Her thoughts were interrupted when the door opened. She turned and saw Rupert Giles striding into the room. Lara turned also and any challenge she may have been about to make died on her lips when she saw who it was.

Giles paused just past the threshold into the room, his gaze darting left and right as though he did not know where to look, to greet Tara or to express his amazement at Lara standing under her own power. His decision was made for him a moment later when she suddenly swayed. He darted forward, both hands reaching out to hers.

With Lara settled on the settee, Giles was able to turn his attention to Tara. He could count the number of times he had seen her over the past twenty years on the fingers of one hand. Each visit had been brief, a mere perfunctory meeting with the sole intention of passing on information. He studied her for a few moments but it was hardly necessary, there was nothing about Tara that had changed over the years. He saw the same flawless beauty and lithe grace, the ever sad eyes and unsmiling mouth.

"I see you and Lara have had time to…catch up." Giles commented, quietly amazed by the vampire's magic prowess. "But I do not think that is the sole reason for your visit."

Tara was hardly fazed by Giles's desire to move straight to business and forgo any polite conversation. "As much as I enjoy Lara's company, it is not. He knows Giles."

The three simple words were enough to drain all colour from Giles's cheeks. He removed his glasses and began to scrub at them furiously with the cuff of his shirt.

"How much does he know?" Lara asked, glancing worriedly at Giles who seemed too flustered to speak.

"Enough that we should be very concerned." Tara's voice was tightly drawn, as though she was trying to keep herself from conveying emotion. "Although he said nothing at the time, I am beginning to believe that he sensed her rebirth…albeit far fainter than you or I, Giles. He has carried his suspicions with him over the years, suspicions that are growing in intensity with each passing year. He has sent several of those closest to him out to search for her, including me."

Although Tara did indeed know that Willow had been reborn, she had very little idea as to where she actually was. She had kept her promise to Giles that she would not interfere in anyway…as difficult as it had been. Her frustration at having to rely completely on Giles to keep Willow safe was clearly evident.

When Giles finally replaced his glasses, he looked straight at Tara. "None have come close to finding her. I spent several years with the family when they first returned from India as a tutor to her brother. Upon his death I established myself as her mentor and have remained in contact over the years…her safety foremost on my mind. When she graduates from university, she will take up a position at the museum."

"But until then, Giles?" Tara demanded. "The walls of a university will not hold back those trying to find her!"

"I agree," Giles replied quietly. "This is why we have no choice in what we must do next."

An hour passed as the three worked through their plan, the finer details were ironed out, everything laid out to the last letter for if anything were to go wrong, it would be Willow Rosenberg's life at stake. With everything ready for the next step, Giles said goodbye to Tara just inside the back entrance to the museum. Although the two of them were far from friends, there was empathy there. Giles could see the pensive expression on Tara's face, that there was any expression there at all meant that she was deeply concerned indeed.

"You know you will not be able to remain with your own kind when this is all over…you will truly be an outcast," he commented quietly.

Tara merely nodded.

"You will be welcome…" Giles began.

"Please don't," she interrupted. "It could take many years…I will think about such matters when this is all over." Tara then drew in a breath, finally feeling that the time was right to ask the one question that had been foremost on her mind throughout the day…not to mention the preceding decades, "How is she, Giles?"

Giles pursed his lips reluctantly and did not reply. However just as Tara thought that he would say nothing at all on the matter he smiled slightly. "She is just as beautiful as she ever was…although…different."

"Does she remember anything of her former life?" Tara tried to keep the desperation from her voice…but failed.

Giles shook his head. "Absolutely nothing."

_Nothing_, Tara told herself, feeling her head thumping like a piece of lead in her chest. She did not quite know what she had expected Giles to say; she had hardly expected Willow to be reborn knowing exactly who she had been…and who she had loved. Although Tara had at first felt crushed by this realisation, she slowly came to see it for the blessing it was. Willow did not remember dying…or the circumstances of that death. The more she dwelt on this, the more she realised that she was actually daring to hope that they could at least be friends in this life...if not more. Her heart fluttered fiercely.

_Don't be bloody ridiculous you fool!_ Tara berated herself, drawing in a deep breath. _This is precisely why you enchanted Willow's mirror…so she will remember the life she lived…remember what you did. She'll never love you again._

"Tara!"

Giles's firm voice drew her out of her thoughts.

"Nothing can compromise Willow's safety…absolutely nothing." Giles said fiercely, his eyes burning as he said the words. "You must promise to do everything you can to ensure that she stays safe! She is more important than you or I."

"I understand." Tara nodded curtly as she drew up her hood and headed out into the dimming light of dusk.

As she walked away from the British Museum, Tara knew that the task she had been given could destroy everything she had worked towards since her ensoulment. The painstaking task of building and maintaining her humanity could be wiped away in an instant. She squared her shoulders and kept Giles's parting words foremost in her mind.

It was hardly difficult. Even in her darkest hours, Willow had never ceased to be the most important element in her life. Without Willow, she could not exist.

* * *

Unlike her first visit to Bran Castle many years earlier, Tara no longer felt the need to prostrate herself before Dracula, Lord of Vampires. As she marched towards his throne, she felt very little fear…only tiny slivers at the nape of her neck that could not be helped. However high in Dracula's favour she had risen, she could still be brought crashing downwards.

He was, as ever, shrouded in darkness as he sat atop his mighty throne in a relaxed pose. As Tara came close enough to see him clearly she saw he wore only a finely tailored shirt. One bare leg was resting up over the armrest as though he were a drunk merely playing at being lord. His hand, complete with immaculately manicured nails, rested on his knee. As she approached, his pose shifted. He placed both his feet together on the floor and leaned forward as though anticipating the pleasure of her company.

Tara drew up just short of the throne and nodded haughtily, her only concession to acknowledging his power. As she lowered her gaze her eyes flicked over the shape tucked against one corner of his throne. The brief glance was more than enough for her to see it was a completely naked, terrified young woman. The sight of her almost caused Tara to lose her composure. Her green eyes were wide with terror in the midst of her pale face. Long red hair fell in tangled strands, almost covering her heaving breasts but not quite. Her resemblance to Willow was almost enough to transform Tara's glance into stare, a stare that Dracula would undoubtedly notice. Tara brought herself quickly under control.

In a split second she had forced her attention back to Dracula's handsome visage and away from the redheaded woman. The expression of pure disdain on her face did not waver.

His perfect lips curled into a broad smile. "My lovely Queen. You are well?"

"Well enough," Tara replied in a bored voice.

Dracula grinned and his own gaze flickered down to the woman. "You are just in time to partake in a special treat I know you will enjoy!"

He leapt down from his throne and seized the young woman by her hair, dragging her to her feet with an exclamation of delight. Tara maintained her expression as he pinched and prodded at her supple flesh, his delight heightening as she tried to squirm out of his grasp.

"My Lord," Tara interrupted him just as he bent to take one of her heaving breasts into his mouth. "There are matters which are far more deserving of your attention at this time. I have news you need to hear."

"Bah!" he spat. "What news can possibly compare to the flesh of a nubile beauty…come Tara, she tastes like fresh honey…no doubt her blood will be just as sweet."

"Willow Van Helsing has been reborn," she spoke in a flat, toneless voice but it had all the effect she needed.

He froze for a moment before suddenly thrusting the girl backwards. She fell from the dais and landed heavily on her back, lying dazed as Dracula marched down the steps towards Tara. He stopped just inches from her face, his dark eyes smouldering.

"You would seek to confirm my suspicions?" he asked.

"With proof." Tara reached into her cloak and withdrew a small object.

It was a photo of Willow taken a few months earlier. She passed it to Dracula without looking at it. He was not to know that she had already spent too much time staring at it and had committed every aspect of it to memory. Even now, if she could close her eyes she knew she would be able to bring up that exact image, everything from the way her hair sat around her face to the unmistakable twinkle in her eye as she grinned for the camera. Even Tara knew it was not customary for people to grin for photographs…but Willow had.

"Proof indeed," Dracula muttered, absently tossing the photograph to the stone floor.

It took some effort for Tara not to follow the fluttering progress of the photo as it fell to the ground. Although she had memorized the image of a smiling Willow, she desperately wanted to tuck it back into the bosom of her dress, close to her heart. Instead it fell into the dust at her feet and was ignored.

"My Lord?" Tara was concerned by his apparent lack of interest. "She is the key to the skull…we need to decide a course of action."

"And we will," Dracula replied with a dismissive wave of his hand. He glanced to the floor where the young woman had fallen to find her gone. His gaze jerked upwards and sliced through the darkness to see her struggling with the heavy door at the end of the hall. "First though, we shall enjoy sport together…I have missed this immensely, just you and I, fucking them and then sucking them dry…I was in the mood for a young man today but I knew you would prefer a woman. Does my choice please you?"

"Immensely," Tara replied, even going as far to run her tongue over her lips to satisfy him. Inwardly however, she was searching for ways to avoid what she knew was going to happen next.

"I want to see you chase her down," Dracula whispered fiercely.

Tara glanced over her shoulder and uttered the simple spell which sealed the door shut. "It would hardly be much of a hunt."

"Indulge me."

Tara turned and headed towards the other end of the hall. She tried to look as though she was closing in on the girl with some enthusiasm but the real thoughts running through her mind were all the ways in which she could help the girl escape and still maintain her favour with Dracula. Even with her mind working overtime she could think of nothing…nothing except how long it had been since she last sank her teeth into real human flesh.

The girl did not run, perhaps she knew it was pointless. She did however beg. Tara was forced to look into her green eyes, eyes which were begging for life.

"I am so sorry," Tara whispered in the terrified girl's ear

"Please help me!" the girl pleaded desperately.

Tara's voice broke when she replied, "I cannot."

She seized the struggling girl by her hair and wrenched her head backwards, exposing the full length of her pale neck. Tara was transfixed as soon as she saw the vein throbbing beneath the skin. Knowing the Dracula was watching her intently; she swiftly sank her razor sharp teeth into the soft flesh. As soon as the skin punctured she felt the warmth flowing into her mouth and down her chin. As the woman struggled against her firm grip, Tara felt her own heart thud with the thrill of the kill. When it all came down to it…she was still a vampire.

Tara drew back and saw the mess in front of her; the girl sagged in her arms, her throat a bloody, torn mess. Unable to stand staring at what she had done, Tara dragged the girl back to her master and gratefully thrust her into his welcoming arms.

Thankfully, once lost to his lust, Dracula ignored Tara's reluctance to participate. He stripped the shirt from his body and thrust the stupefied woman backwards against the cold wall.

With his attention fully focused on the young woman, Tara turned away from Dracula's naked form as he pressed her back against the wall. She could not however silence her terrible screams. Such screams would have once been music to her ears…but now they stabbed her soul with piercing shards of agony. Her whispered apology to the woman counted for absolutely nothing, it was murder…and she was allowing it to happen.

Allow it to happen was all she could do however. As powerful as she was…Dracula was the Lord of Vampires and had been so for a millennium, he would snap her neck like a twig before she could begin to think about unleashing one of her fireballs to engulf him in flames. However, she would not allow herself to excuse what she was doing; instead she forced herself to suffer the screams as though it was she, and not Dracula, who was savaging the young woman.

Tara listened to his insatiable rutting for what seemed like an eternity before she heard him finish in a sound her ears knew well…too well for her own sanity.

"I will send William and Angelus forth to seize her," Dracula announced suddenly, obviously having given the matter some thought throughout his sport.

Tara turned and stared directly at his naked back as he dipped his head for one last drink from the now dead woman's neck.

"I disagree, Master," Tara replied firmly. "The information will not be on the surface to be drawn out via means of torture. A more subtle approach will be required…an approach I think would be best suited to one of her mortal acquaintances - a friend if you will."

As he stepped away from the body of the young woman, her lifeless form slumped to the floor. Dracula then unleashed a mighty sigh as he stretched, arching his back with some gusto. He turned to face Tara, the blood covering his naked body glistened dully in the poor light.

"So you suggest we should…bide our time?" he asked, cocking his head to one side with interest.

Tara nodded. "I believe that Rupert Giles is as yet unaware of our knowledge. It would be to our advantage to ensure that this remains the case, at least until the location of the skull is rediscovered."

"Agreed…you will watch over the vampire hunter," Dracula announced. "Provided I can trust you to perform that small task without falling back on any of your old habits? I don't want you killing her…it would not be conducive to finding the skull."

"Understood," Tara replied, this time she bowed low, wondering if he could hear her heart thudding violently in her chest. She forced a grin onto her face as she glanced back up at him; the tip of her tongue flicked out to lick some of the blood from her lips. "My Lord, might you permit sport of another kind…a well greased passage never ceases to yield information."

Dracula clapped his hands together with satisfaction, "I am immensely pleased that Van Helsing did not ruin you when he restored your soul…if anything, I think I like you even better with one. You know all of this is evil…and yet you do it anyway, splendid!"

Tara forced herself to continue smiling even though it was beginning to physically hurt. "My thoughts exactly" _Stupid cock-sucking arsehole_. "Now, if you will excuse me, I have another redhead to stalk."

She turned to leave his presence. With her back to him she ached to be able to flee as fast as possible but knew that the slightest movement out of the ordinary would ruin everything. Tara forced herself to walk slowly, although she could feel his eyes burning into the back of her head. Each step was an exercise in controlling her fear.

"Tara."

At the sound of his voice, Tara immediately stopped walking. She did not turn around, instead turning only her head so he could see her face in profile. "Yes, Master?"

"As you know I am very patient…but even my patience has a limit. Find the skull."

"Yes, Master." Tara repeated. She tried to inject an element of fervour into her voice but her tone came out dull and flat. When no other commands were forthcoming she continued on her way, trembling with each silent footfall.

In the midst of her fear Tara remember the photograph of Willow lying in the dust at Dracula's feet. She felt her heart sink at the realisation that there was no safe way to retrieve the precious item. Still, it was an item that would constantly serve to remind her that she had chosen Willow's life over that of the unfortunate victim.

Once outside the great hall, Tara immediately dissolved into her misty form. She then fled the castle as fast as possible, not stopping until she was at a distance where she felt safe enough to curl into a tight ball and cry tears of shame and regret.

The only problem was that she could find no tears to shed for the girl she had helped murder. Tara did not cry, but she did feel sick to her stomach. For she had no doubt that even the purest, most complete soul in the world would not change the fact that she was a demon…now and always.

* * *

_**The Present**_

Willow blinked. As her eyes came into focus she immediately wrinkled her small nose at the sight of Giles leaning over her…a little too close for comfort. She placed a weak hand on his chest and propelled him backwards. It was hardly a shove but he took the hint and gave her some breathing space.

"Willow?" Giles asked with concern weighing his tone.

"I'm fine, Giles!" Although Willow was exhausted she managed to sit up under her own power. However her hands went straight to her head as the room began to spin. It took a few deep breaths before everything began to return to normal. "I have got to stop experiencing past lives like this…there should be some sort of warning label on spells like these, do not use more than once or you'll go utterly insane. Giles, am I insane?"

Giles stared at her for a few moments as though giving her question serious consideration. "No more so than usual."

"Ha ha," Willow voiced sarcastically.

"Have you any thoughts regarding what you were just shown?" Giles asked quietly.

Willow snorted in disgust. "Dracula's naked body is an image I could do without!

Fighting back any further blunt retorts, Willow swallowed uncomfortably. Of course she had thoughts…too many to count and all equally disturbing. If she closed her eyes she knew that all she would see nothing but images of a broken body lying in the dark cellar beneath Gordon Square.

Willow drew in a deep breath; she could not bring herself to say the vampire's name. "She said she wanted to bring me back because Abraham told her I would know where the skull was…Giles that is impossible. I was most definitely and very completely dead when Abraham did whatever it was that he did with the skull. How in the frilly heck am I supposed to know where it is?"

Giles uncharacteristically shrugged, he then removed his glass and rubbed them on his sleeve. Willow sighed as she realised that, for once, Giles did not have the answers.

"I am not certain now either," Giles admitted. "I thought that by giving you all the information you would…well, I do not quite know what I was expecting…but I have to admit I was hoping you would come out of it knowing where to find the skull."

Willow felt as though she had just failed a test. "Sorry to disappoint."

"No, I am merely being impatient…lately I have been dwelling on my own life and its finite nature, thoughts that I should not be wasting my time with…perhaps in a week something will come to you, after you have had the time to process the new information," Giles offered. "And in the meantime I will continue to work on the spell."

Willow glanced quickly up at Giles, feeling rather annoyed that he would chide her for not remembering where the skull was when he had spent the better part of several hundred years trying to find a way to destroy it. She thought better of saying something to that effect and settled for something a little less inflammatory but no less disgruntled.

"I don't want to ruin what sounds like a stunning plan Giles…but can you not just leave the skull wherever it is?" Willow asked as though it was the most obvious question in the world. "Dracula hasn't found the damn thing in the last hundred years, so what would make you think he'd ever find it?"

"You have met Dracula…or at least Willow Van Helsing did," Giles began.

"Lovely chap," Willow commented, remembering with a grimace the strikingly handsome vampire that she had come so close to defeating.

"And you know full well he will never stop searching for that skull," Giles continued, not amused by Willow's comment.

"If he also believes that I know where it is…why does he not come for me?" Willow asked, unsure whether to be excited or terrified at the prospect of facing the Lord of Vampires once again. The Rosenberg part of her wanted to flee to the far side of the world and hide under a rock. "Surely the old boy would not be bothered by a spot of torture…I don't have a very high pain threshold, I'd be blubbering like a baby if he tried to pull my fingernails off…"

Willow glanced down at the worn and cracked little nubbins that were all that remained of her fingernails. As ugly as they were she decided that she would rather have them than none at all.

"You should know the answer to that question." Giles said sternly. He finally rose from the floor, doing so slowly as though his limbs were stiff. As he stood he gently retrieved the memory cache from its spot on the floor between him and Willow.

Willow bit her lip and continued to stare at her fingernails, Giles's tone reminded her of the time when he had been her brother's tutor. She then deliberately chewed at her longest fingernail to avoid answering the question, anything to avoid acknowledging her involvement. When she finally did look up at Giles she saw an expectant expression on his face.

Willow looked as though she had just swallowed an extremely bitter pill, an expression that very quickly gave way to anger when she realised that Giles was not going to let her off addressing the point at hand.

"Goddammit Giles, I saw that memory, I know she protected me from Dracula!"

"And continues to do so," Giles added quietly, unperturbed by Willow's outburst.

"Fine…I do not want to talk about it," she muttered with an air of finality, "Let's just say that I accept the fact that you're worried about Dracula finding the skull…so I'll find it, I don't know how but I will…is that good enough?"

"No…but it will do for now." The already deep furrows on Giles's brow deepened, "Willow, are you alright?"

"Yes," Willow replied in a voice she hoped was convincing enough to avoid further interrogation.

She then forced herself to banish all thoughts of the blonde vampire from her mind, every aspect of Tara's memories made her sick to the stomach. Even though she had seen it in her mind, Willow was still having difficulty accepting the fact that her brother had imprisoned Tara for years. Abraham had always been such a gentle soul…the fact that he had been consumed by his hate was a truly painful discovery. She could not judge her brother. It was a discovery that caused her to search her own heart and wonder if she too was capable of such evil. She remembered the depths to which she herself had sunk following Tara's death. Abraham had been the steadfast rock anchoring her to life and sanity. He restrained her from murdering Edward Walsh in cold blood…and loved her too much to allow her to kill herself.

As she stared at Giles she mulled over the brief comment he had made earlier about the finite nature of his life. She had not dwelt on it at the time it was said, and now found it hard to imagine her life without his presence. It was a thought that she very quickly dismissed as being entirely ridiculous. Giles had already seen her die once and no doubt he would see her die again. This odd thought led her to another…she wondered how he coped with generation after generation of friends and family dying around him. Willow had seen more than enough of death in her two, relatively short lives…but Giles had seen so much more. An odd thought struck her, she wondered if Giles had ever been in love. It was much too difficult a question for Willow to even contemplate asking at that moment…if at all.

"I will continue to work on the spell that will destroy the skull. It is difficult…but I do know that it must be destroyed at Covasna," Giles added in Willow's silence, almost as an after thought. He then turned to place the memory cache safely in the middle of a nearby table.

In turning his back on Willow, Giles remained oblivious to the dark cloud that passed over her face at the mention of that place. Her eyes dulled and her lips trembled violently until she clamped her mouth shut, biting down hard on her jaw to keep the tremors from returning. Although she was sitting directly in front of Giles, watching him place the idol on the table, the chill running through her entire body made her feel as though she was alone on the plateau. _You're not at Covasna_, Willow voiced inwardly. _You're safe and warm in the British Museum…you're not there…you're not there_. With some effort, Willow wiped the pained expression from her face just in time for Giles to face her again.

"Well that is just asking for trouble isn't it?" Willow commented breezily, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

Giles nodded slightly in agreement. "It is far from the most pleasant spot on earth."

Willow suddenly felt as though the walls of the library were hemming her in. Whereas moments ago her body had been chilled, she now felt as though the tiny flames that burned on each of the surrounding candles were emitting a tremendous amount of heat. Even Giles's usually reassuring visage seemed grotesque and threatening. She had to get out.

"If you don't mind…my brain is kind of haywire, I think I might go and pummel a training dummy," Willow slowly rose to her feet, testing both her legs to see if they functioned normally. "Or I'll find Faith. She might actually stand a chance at beating me in my weakened state."

Willow did not wait for Giles to protest at her sudden desire to engage in physical activity. She left the library as quickly as possible while at the same time trying to appear as though she was unconcerned by what she had just learnt. In truth, Willow was concerned.

She paused along the corridor, some distance from the library and had to lean her back against the wall to steady herself. Her breath came quickly, as though she were panicking. Willow closed her eyes in an effort to calm herself and slow her heartbeat down a little but all she saw in the darkness was an endless plateau covered in skeletons.

Willow was beginning to realise just how unnatural her reincarnated life truly was, she would have no choice but to return to the place where she had already died.


	33. A Reflection's Kiss

**Chapter Thirty-Three  
A Reflection's Kiss**

It had surprised Willow just how easy it had been to strip all traces of her existence from the tiny flat in which she had dwelt comfortably for five years. Five years spent working at the British Museum, mostly confined to her basement office without the slightest inclination to venture out into the dark and dangerous walls that lay beyond its walls. Five years ago everything had seemed so exceptionally normal. Willow could not believe how quickly such an ordered, quiet life could be turned inside out and back to front.

Upon seeing her flat empty and bare of the mostly ephemeral possessions that she had accrued over the course of her life, Willow realised that it had never really been more than a place to sleep and eat occasionally. She had carried out both activities just as frequently at the museum.

It was only when she once again found herself at the foot of the stairs leading up to Gordon Square's front door, this time with a bag in each hand, that she realised she truly was home. There had never been anywhere else that could truly be considered home - except of course Hagley Park. However that home belonged to another time altogether - a dream world really.

While she had been staying at Gordon Square following the incident with the mirror and the subsequent flood of memories of her past life, she had difficulty considering herself as more than an intruder. As she now entered with her bags in tow she felt as if she were being welcomed home. It was as though the house somehow knew that she had decided to embrace her past life, to walk in the footsteps of Willow Van Helsing. Everything felt right, her coat rested neatly on the rack by the door, the portraits and dark furnishings in the parlour no longer sent shivers down her spine and she looked forward to being able to sleep in her own bed.

The only trace of sadness that she did have as she ascended the stairs towards her room was the fact that the house was otherwise empty. She supposed that she would need to employ at least one servant to maintain such a large house. While considering this, she balked at the thought of paying for such an extravagance on her museum salary but she had to admit that the company would be more than welcome.

_Perhaps I can ask Croft for a raise, _Willow mused as she picked up her two small bags and began toting them up the stairs. _After all, she's sleeping with my best friend, I'm sure that entitles me to some sort of favouritism._

Thoughts of a hefty raise were unfortunately replaced by ones of Lara and Faith in bed…naked. With a grimace Willow did her best to erase those interesting but thoroughly unwanted images from her mind.

When she entered her room she felt a renewed sense of peace, the bed appeared soft and inviting even though it was barely late afternoon. With some relish Willow dumped both her bags and decadently decided that she would postpone unpacking them. Instead she reacquainted herself with the room, running her fingers lightly over every surface close by. She touched the dresser, the cushions of the window seat, the posts of her bed and eventually the ornate, silver framed mirror that seemed to dominate the large room.

She had deliberately stayed clear of its reflection. After her last unnerving experience, she had no desire to disappear within its depths again. However, despite her fear, there was something about it which drew her in and compelled her to look even though she was wary of its hidden powers.

Today it appeared quite normal. It showed her an exact reflection of her room, as a mirror should.

_I wonder if I should move it out…into the attic, someplace where I don't have to see it every day._ Even as the thought crossed Willow's mind she knew she would never carry it out. The mirror belonged in the room, just as much as she herself did.

Willow studied her reflection, wondering if the mirror showed her exactly as she was or if it was deliberately trying to make her appear more drawn and tired. As she stifled a yawn and her shoulders sagged further, she admitted that the reflection was accurate.

She was still staring at her own reflection when she saw a shadow move behind her. Willow froze as someone else entered the room in the reflection. It took her a few moments of steeling herself before she could turn around and stare at the real world behind her. She spun quickly…only to find herself alone in the room.

Her heart was thudding when she forced her gaze back to the mirror, a part of her hoped she had merely been seeing things but the figure was now standing even closer, just behind her shoulder.

It was Tara.

The blonde vampire appeared exactly the same as she had the night Willow had last seen her in the cemetery. Her hood was drawn back so Willow could see all of her face, the pale, unblemished surface stretched over her sharp cheekbones.

Willow remembered the broken figure lying in the cell beneath Gordon Square and she unconsciously let out a choked sob. The anger she felt in Tara's real presence was almost non-existent, replaced by all the sorrow and anguish those memories conjured.

"You never stopped loving me," Willow whispered, instinctively reaching out towards the image in the mirror. "Even when absolutely everything seemed hopeless after years in that dark hole, you loved me."

When the tips of her fingers touched the glass, Willow found it to be ice cold. Despite all that had happened to her during her last encounter with the mirror, she found herself willing the mirror to draw her in. She pressed her fingers against the glass until the tips were white with pressure and cold but still she remained standing alone in her room.

As the minutes passed and Tara's reflection remained motionless, trapped on the other side of the glass, Willow leaned forward and pressed her forehead to the icy surface. She watched her breath hit the mirror's surface for a moment before closing her eyes.

"Can't you just take me back?" Willow whispered desperately. "Back to that night when you chose Edward over me. I'd refuse to accept your decision and force you to leave with me!" She leaned into the mirror until the skin on the side of her face burned with cold. "I don't care if it's just a dream…please take me back!"

"We have each chosen our paths," a gentle voice whispered.

Willow felt her knees go weak as the soft, warm breath brushed against her neck. As difficult as it was to hold herself upright, she could still inject an amount of fervour into her voice. "Neither of us chose our paths! They were chosen for us…always!"

"No, Willow…remember when we first met, in the stable."

As Tara's voice sounded in her ear, Willow remembered that day. Even though it was over one hundred years ago, it was a day she would never forget. An abrupt sigh escaped her lips.

Tara continued. "You made the decision to kiss me, and I made the decision to let you…that was the one moment that set everything in motion."

"All of this suffering…because of one kiss," Willow whispered. "It's not fair…." Her voice trailed off, as soon as the words left her lips she acknowledged to herself just how petty and futile they really were. There was absolutely no one she could appeal to, no one to help her and Tara…no one besides themselves.

With her entire body now chilled, Willow drew back from the mirror so she could once again stare at Tara's reflection. She watched as a single tear tracked down the pale skin of her cheek. Willow fought back her own tears as she reflected on how differently their lives would have progressed had it not been for that kiss. Both would have married, albeit unhappily, and born children…and they would both be very much dead and buried.

Despite all she and Tara had suffered in the years since that kiss, Willow did not want to exchange anything for the safe but boring and unhappy life that was her birthright as an upper class woman.

"How could I have made any other choice that day in the stable?" Willow whispered, lifting her fingers so it was as though she was touching the tear track on Tara's cheek. "Just look at you. You are beautiful."

Willow suddenly felt a firm grip on the front of her shirt and for the second time she was dragged into the mirror, although this time it was straight into Tara's waiting arms in the mirrored reflection of the room. She quickly overcame her surprise and allowed her body to mould against Tara's so that there was absolutely nothing separating them. With a sigh she found Tara's lips. Her first contact with the soft skin sent shivers throughout her entire body that pooled in her gut and between her legs. She drew back slightly to break her contact with Tara's lips but only so she could press forward again a split second later and feel that same contact for a second time.

Tara's hand went to the back of her neck, preventing Willow from drawing back again. However this time she was ready to open up completely to the kiss. They explored each other's lips teasingly at first, but then more fiercely until the contact was almost bruising.

Willow surprised herself with the intensity of her own need. She felt the blood pounding in her head as she willed herself to explore more of Tara. As her hands roamed the lithe body pressed up against her own, she thrust her tongue into Tara's mouth seeking, needing more.

Just as she was about to lose herself to the reflection's kiss and forget all that was happening outside of the mirror, Willow felt herself be thrust backwards by an unseen force. She was torn from Tara's lips and her grasp with a muffled cry. Moments later she landed on her back atop the floor rug in her room. She stared back at her own reflection and saw lips swollen by Tara's kiss…but Tara's reflection was gone.

Willow lifted her shaking hand and pressed her fingers to her lips to feel the fast disappearing warmth left by the kiss.

"Miss Rosenberg?"

Willow's attention was drawn away from the mirror by the sound of a man's voice echoing down the hallway beyond her room. She made a half-hearted attempt to drag herself to her feet but she only succeeded in proving what she already suspected, her legs would not hold her weight.

A few moments later, there was a tentative knock on her already open door. Willow turned her head to see young Myles Cavendish poke his head into the room. When he saw he half-lying on the floor he moved quickly to her side with an anxious expression on his face.

"Are you alright!" he asked quickly as he knelt on the floor at her side. Myles did not know if it was appropriate for him to reach out and support Willow in some way. He lifted his hands towards her but immediately thought better of touching her and dropped them back to his thighs where he scrapped his clammy palms over the wool of his breeches. "Forgive me for saying so…but you are as white as a sheet."

"I am sitting in front of a bloody mirror, Myles!" Willow snapped. "I think I can see for myself how pale I am without having to hear it from you!"

"Oh…" Myles glanced up to the mirror and then down at the floor. He tried to find something else to say but instead settled on standing up and giving Willow some space.

Willow sighed. "Damn my ill-temper. I'm sorry, will you forgive me and help me up?"

"Of course!" Myles was quick to respond, taking both Willow's proffered hands and hoisting her back onto her feet.

There was an awkward moment where the two of them were standing scant inches apart but Myles wasted no time in backing away. His cheeks reddened as he stared at the floor and once again wiped his palms, this time on his jacket.

"Is it your turn to watch me?" Willow asked, feeling ridiculous that she should have to ask such a question of someone who was almost ten years her junior.

Myles bit his lip before replying reluctantly. "Not exactly…I think it's Faith's…but I was wondering if I could stay here all the same. I-I know, it is ridiculous of me to think that I could…gosh Miss Rosenberg, I'm ever so sorry…I'll be out of your hair immediately."

"Myles, wait!" Willow interrupted the young man's escape from her room. "You're more than welcome…as soon as you explain why. Will your parents not miss you?"

Myles looked stricken for a moment but the expression was quickly gone, replaced by a sad smile. "I guess you're still missing some of the little details in your memory…my parents are dead, I live with my aunt and uncle."

"I'm sorry." Willow hated to think that Myles was such a small part of her life she had simply forgotten whole details about his life after emerging from the mirror. She saw through his brave attempt at a smile and reached out to lay her hand on his shoulder, knowing that a proper hug would send him so far past the point of embarrassment he would have difficulty recovering. "It had slipped my mind."

"It's understandable." Myles shrugged as though it did not matter. "You've been through a lot."

"Still, you are a dear friend," Willow said sincerely. "Why do you want to stay here? Are your aunt and uncle not good to you?"

Myles responded with a fervent nod. "Yes, of course, but I cannot help but feel like a burden. They have five children of their own and…I wondered with me having to come and stay here every few nights anyway, if I might be able to stay every night, at least until I find somewhere to board."

Willow smiled. "Myles, you are more than welcome to stay here indefinitely…if you promise me that you are able to stomach the thought of ghostly presences and mirrors that swallow people whole."

"Absolutely!" Myles nodded once again, just as fervently.

"And Myles…if you are going to live here for any length of time, will you please call me Willow?"

"Absolutely, Miss…Willow."

Willow let Myles take his pick of the several guest rooms at Gordon Square she felt a huge wave of relief wash over her. The house would no longer feel empty and she would have someone to keep her company…even if it was a young man who grew red-checked around women and had a habit of knocking things over.

As she watched a grateful Myles dump his bag with some relish on the huge bed in front of him, Willow found the memory of the kiss with Tara's reflection foremost in her mind once again. Although it had merely been a dream…or a vision of sorts, she could not help but remember it as being very real. Given the lack of anger she had felt towards the reflection, Willow wondered if the same would be true when she saw Tara face to face. She pushed such speculations from her mind for the immediate present and instead dwelt on the way Tara's lips had felt beneath her own.

It was only when Myles looked at her strangely a few minutes later that she realised the mere memory of the kiss had been enough to make her drool.

* * *

Willow was determined to help Myles feel at home straight away…at least she told herself this was what she was doing. In truth she was trying to forget everything else that constantly plagued her waking and sleeping thoughts.

She had also decided that a steady stream of drool was not a good look.

Willow very quickly discovered that cooking was an effective way to keep one's mind busy. When living alone she had mostly picked up food on the way home from work from any one of the greasy little bars and restaurants that lined the streets of her neighbourhood. As a result she had very little in the cupboards at Gordon Square except for a few items that Faith had thought to buy. For some reason the dark-haired vampire hunter ate like a horse.

As she bustled around the still unfamiliar kitchen, trying to make a stew of sorts, Myles sat at the kitchen table and filled the air with a constant stream of chatter. As exasperated as Willow grew with the combined effort of trying to cook and listen to Myles, she realised that she actually felt a semblance of normality in her life.

"I figure…if I spend a few more years doing…what I'm doing now," Myles explained between mouthfuls of an apple he was gnawing on. "I'll be in the perfect position to ask Director Croft for additional responsibility and weapons training…perhaps accompanying Faith on a few missions…easy ones of course."

"Although I'm not actually sure what you actually do now, Myles," Willow commented as she wrinkled her nose, wondering if her stew was supposed to be giving off the odour of rotten cabbage, "I think it is wise to have a plan…ouch!"

"It's not too ambitious?" Myles asked anxiously, watching as Willow jabbed a burnt finger into a pail of water.

"Not at all, it would be like...a curatorial internship, only in your case…a vampire hunter internship." Willow shrugged; she lifted her finger out of the pail and examined the reddening skin at its tip. "Makes perfect sense really."

"What makes perfect sense?" Faith strode into the kitchen and deposited two large, bulky bags in the middle of the floor. She was surprised to see Myles sitting in front of her, his jaws working around a large mouthful of fruit. "I thought it was my night?"

"It…ish…or…ight," Myles tried to explain, he swallowed too quickly and ended up descending into a loud choking fit.

Willow frowned disapprovingly as small pieces of apple sprayed out of Myles's mouth and across the table. "It is your night…I've just invited Myles to stay on a longer-term basis

"Great!" Faith was suddenly enthusiastic. "If you're offering…you know my place's a rotten hole and you've got more rooms than you know what to do with."

Willow sighed in exasperation as she glanced from a still-choking Myles back to Faith. "Do you people think that this is Hotel Rosenberg?"

Despite the exasperation in her tone, Willow could not restrain the smile that tugged at the corner of her lips. Without any further words of complaint, she set about making another place at the kitchen table and then returned to her stew.

Faith pulled back a chair at the head of the table, casting a wary glace in the direction of the stove.

"You didn't make that did you, Will?" Faith nodded towards the large pot of stew bubbling away on the stove.

Willow turned. "Of course I did…there wasn't much to work with but…" Willow paused and her face fell slightly. "You think it's going to be terrible don't you?"

"That is not what I said!" Faith held up her hands.

Seizing her wooden spoon, Willow waved it in Faith's direction without noticing the gobs of brown liquid flying off in several directions. "That is what you are insinuating!"

"I'm just impressed!" Faith tried to wriggle out of trouble. "You know I haven't the faintest clue when it comes to cooking…I just didn't know you did." Faith then subtlety changed the subject. "Is there anything to wash it down with? I didn't think to bring any wine."

"I think there's some in the cellar...although I think it's kind of old though," Willow announced, still clutching her dripping spoon as she looked towards a door leading off from the kitchen. "I hope it's still alright."

"Will…wine gets better with age," Faith pointed out helpfully.

"Oh." Willow's cheeks reddened. "I knew that…of course I knew that."

Myles waited until Willow had disappeared into the cellar to lean towards Faith. "I tasted it when she wasn't looking and it's god-awful. Too watery and too salty…but please don't tell her!"

"Oh god," Faith muttered. "You can't seriously expect me to pretend I'm enjoying it?"

"You and I will both enjoy it!" Myles whispered with determination. "With all she's been through lately the last thing she needs is for us to tell her that her cooking is rotten!"

"I think I'll go and help Willow with the wine selection." Faith pushed back her chair with a loud scrape. "And make sure she brings up enough. I think I'm going to need to thoroughly line my stomach."

* * *

Although it was only afternoon, the halls of the British Museum's basement were eerily silent as Tara made her way along the familiar route to Giles's office. She did not need to walk the corridors at all of course; she could simply slip through one of the many windows. However, even though he had been warned against it, she was hoping to accidentally bump into a certain red head.

The door to Willow's office had been left half open. Tara tentatively peered through the gap but saw only Willow's empty chair in the midst of the mess.

"Rosenberg is in the library."

Tara did not turn immediately, her gaze lingered on the office. It did not matter, she knew exactly who it was who had joined her. She had heard the faint tapping of a cane on the wooden floor before the Museum Director had even entered the corridor. When she did eventually turn to face Lara Croft she was surprised to see a healthy glow about the darker woman, the trace of a smile lingering on her lips.

"I did not want to see her-" Tara started to explain and then cut herself short. No explanations were necessary. She moved away from Willow's office and changed the subject. "You look well."

Lara shrugged, but the smile that had lingered on her face now tugged at her lips. "I have been alone for so long that I did not think this would ever happen…and certainly not with Faith...but I think she is good for me."

"No one…" Tara started to speak but she stopped short before she finished her sentence. _No one should be alone_. She knew that she would not be able to force the words out without choking on them. "It is a good match."

Lara laughed throatily at Tara's choice of words. "An unlikely match don't you think? She has exasperated me from the moment she strode into my office. I thought we would end up at each other's throats, not in bed together." Lara paused, feeling as though Tara was being overly silent. When she turned to stare at the vampire, she saw a pained expression on her pale features. Lara's heart immediately sank. She could not believe how insensitive she had been, exposing any enthusiasm for her relationship with Faith without taking into account Tara's complete lack of a relationship with the woman she loved. "I am sorry; I did not mean to bring up such a subject...especially not when-"

The pained expression had already been wiped from Tara's face. "I have known you for almost twenty-five years, and in all that time I have never seen you as happy as you are now…and I am, in turn, happy for you - as I should be."

Lara sighed. Tara's words were nothing but sincere but she could not help but see straight through them to the pain that lay beneath. She stepped forward and moved to embrace Tara, to draw the blonde woman close for just a moment. Tara rebuffed her by turning slightly, avoiding the embrace.

"Tara, for god's sake stop being such an ice princess and let me hold you!" Lara growled angrily. She tried once again to seize her by the shoulders but Tara shrugged her off with little effort. "How long has it been since someone has held you in an honest to goodness embrace for nothing more than comfort?"

"You know how long it has been," Tara whispered as she put some additional breathing distance between herself and Croft. "Several lifetimes."

"Too long." Lara ignored Tara's obvious physical discomfort and slowly closed the gap that had just been created between the two of them. When Tara did not try to move away she reached out and placed a hand lightly on her sleeve. "You cannot continue to punish yourself in this manner…denying yourself anything that might be considered comfort."

Tara suddenly yanked her arm away as though Lara's touch burned. Several times she appeared to be on the verge of saying something before thinking better of it.

Lara watched her establish a modicum of control before she looked up again.

Tara found it difficult to speak; her words came out haltingly. "Don't you understand…I cannot give in to this, as simple an act as you obviously think it to be."

"It is simple!" Lara interrupted. "If I can go as far to admit that you need someone to care about you, then you can bloody well admit that you're hurting!"

"Hurting?" Tara turned to stare at Lara with her blue eyes opened wide. Normally lustrous, they were dull and lifeless. "Lara, I married a pure pig of a man to save a family who saw me only as a piece of chattel. I spent several weeks in hell with him before being turned into a despicably evil creature who spent decades roaming the world killing and torturing innocents. Oh, and along the way I managed to find the time to deceive and murder the woman I love."

Lara felt her cheeks burn with shame. She felt responsible for triggering this painful conversation. "Tara…please…stop."

Tara continued, "No, that was not the end of it by half, I then spent an eternity locked in a cell with only my newly returned soul for company…I finally get the hell out of there only to have to resurrect my dead lover and spend the next few decades desperately trying to maintain the façade of being a bloodthirsty demon. My lover has since grown up all over again and now wants nothing more than to drive a stake through my chest…I have to say that 'hurting' doesn't quite sum up how I feel right now."

Lara drew in a deep breath; there was little she could say in response to Tara's outburst. "Yet after everything that you have been through…you are still standing in front of me."

"A masochistic penchant on my part perhaps," Tara muttered bitterly.

"No," Lara said softly as she shook her head. "You love Willow…even after everything you have suffered…and it is that love which keeps you here…and it will bring you together once again."

"Please don't say that," Tara whispered. "You don't know that…I don't know that."

Lara moved forward and folded Tara into her arms without asking. This time the blonde did not attempt to avoid the embrace. She fell into Lara's arms with a soft sob and crumpled.

"Of everything I have had to bear in my life," Tara whispered into Lara's shoulder. "The knowledge that I may never get her back is what makes it difficult to keep living." A choked sob escaped her lips and her fingers clutched at the fabric covering Lara's back. "I need her, Lara. I need her so very much."

Neither woman saw Faith emerge around the corner of the opposite end of the corridor. The vampire hunter had been on her way upstairs to help Lara down to the basement. Now she found herself staring at her lover cradling the blonde vampire in her arms. Her first thoughts immediately went to the far end of the spectrum. As she was well versed in the Director's body language, Faith knew the way she held Tara close meant that there was something between the two of them - something more than simple friendship. At any moment she expected them to shift slightly so they could kiss.

Faith found her legs unwillingly to co-operate as she stared at the two women standing in a close embrace. A short while later she realised her fists were balled at her side as though she needed to strike something. Before she could unleash an outburst in the corridor, she turned and hastily made her way to Giles's workroom. She had almost broken into a run by the time she slipped into the familiar workspace.

Giles was already there, perched on one of his stools with his nose buried in several papers. He glanced up when she entered. Faith did not acknowledge his presence as she hoisted herself up onto a table and sat with her arms hugging her stomach.

"Are you feeling quite alright, Faith?" Giles asked quietly.

Faith looked startled, as though she had only just noticed that Giles was actually in the room. "Oh…yes…and no. Willow cooked for Myles and I last night. Although I think I actually came out alright, poor Myles has had his head stuck in a chamberpot for much of the day."

If Faith found the story amusing, then it did not show in her voice or expression. She went back to staring at her feet as they dangled out in front of her. Giles was about to question her further when Lara entered the room, followed shortly by Tara. Surprisingly, Faith did not lift her gaze to acknowledge her lover. Giles very quickly decided that whatever was happening between the two of them, he would not get involved.

Lara too quickly noticed this silence. She frowned in her lover's direction but she was unwilling to query her in public, even if the 'public' involved were two of her dearest friends. Instead, she turned her attention to Giles. The warlock was now looking particularly pleased with himself for a reason which she could hazard a good guess at.

"Giles?" Lara murmured inquisitively, she could not help but cast another worried glance in Faith's direction but the vampire hunter's gaze remained fixed downwards. _What the hell have I done now?_. She allowed herself a brief disgruntled twist of her mouth before turning her full attention back to Giles. "You must have something to report?"

Giles beamed. "Indeed I do. I am fairly certain that the spell to destroy the skull has been completed…I cannot be one hundred percent certain until I have carried out more physical tests but it is good news at least."

Beside her, Lara heard Tara exhale with obvious relief. Lara had to share her feelings, with the spell ready, it was only a matter of finding the skull and everything would be almost over. This cloud that had hung over her entire tenure as Director of the organisation would be lifted and leave her free to concentrate on ridding the world of Dracula altogether, without worrying that he would rise up with a might army and conquer Europe.

"Giles, do you need assistance carrying out these tests?" Tara spoke up; she was pleased at the opportunity to have something to focus on besides her burning need to see Willow.

"That would be welcome…but I would like to leave you out of this for now. The more you know about the spell, the more Dracula might know."

"Are you insinuating that I would tell him?" Tara interrupted angrily. "After all these years of feeding him the information we wanted to feed him without giving away that which we did not want him to know."

Giles shook his head slowly, unfazed by Tara's outburst. It was exactly the reaction he had predicted. "I'm keeping you in the dark for the same reason I kept you in the dark regarding Willow's whereabouts…just to be safe. If he ever did turn on you, you would have no defence against him."

Tara ducked her head. She had tried desperately to convince herself otherwise, that she would be able to stand up to Dracula and defeat him…but she knew that he would smite her down…and then proceed to torture her for information with great enthusiasm. Tara knew she would never willingly give up a single thing that would endanger Willow but she could also not rule out being turned again. Although neither she nor Giles had the slightest proof as to whether she could even be turned again, especially considering she was already a vampire, it was a theory she did not want to test.

"I understand." Tara nodded in Giles's direction. "There have been increased rumblings of late…some of my colleagues have been less than impressed with my efforts to find the skull."

"Are you in danger?" Lara asked, her concern obvious.

Tara shrugged. "Perhaps…although I am hardly worried by the pandering of the likes of William and others. I think it is starting to become clear that Angelus will never return."

"You should lie low," Giles suggested.

"My absence would only serve to heighten their suspicions?" Tara replied firmly. "No, I will go to them and offer further false trails regarding the skull."

"There is only so much of that you can do," Giles cautioned. "Sooner or later you will have exhausted their patience and they will call you out on the promises you have made. You cannot confront them all."

"I know," Tara admitted. It was a thought that was foremost in her mind whenever she consorted with demons. It was exhausting to maintain the appearance that she was still one of them even though she had been ensouled. "If you don't have anything further for us, I think I might go, my humanity is asserting itself with a vengeance today, I am exhausted."

"I will see you out." Lara offered almost immediately, she glanced towards an abnormally silent Faith just in time to catch her angry expression. She suppressed a sigh. That was one conversation she needed to have…although she brightened up slightly after a moment's consideration. Whatever it was she had done, there was bound to be an opportunity for vigorous make-up sex in its wake.

With the other two women leaving, Giles turned his attention to Faith. Like Lara, her silence unnerved him as well. "Have you anything to add?"

"I am worried about Will," was Faith's first observation and obviously her greatest concern. She turned her head slightly, her eyes boring daggers into Tara's back as she followed Lara out the door. It was only when the blonde was completely gone that she turned her attention back to Giles. "She appears to be holding everything together but I shudder to think what she is going through inwardly."

"We are all concerned for Willow," Giles reminded her gently. "But I believe the best way to help her is to keep all our efforts focused on finding the skull."

"A curse on that damn skull!" Faith snapped angrily in Giles's direction. "And a pox on you for dumping this task on our shoulders…most importantly Willow's, but Lara's…and mine…and even that icy bitch-" Faith paused and then turned in the direction of the open door through which her lover and Tara had just walked a moment earlier. She furrowed her brow as her suspicions deepened. "Giles, do you know if there was ever anything happening between Lara and that vampire?"

It was Giles's turn to furrow his brow. "Please define 'anything happening'?"

Faith turned back to face Giles with a disbelieving expression, "Giles, you're ancient. How do you not know these things?"

Giles gave an annoyed snort in response to Faith's stare. "Well, I didn't think you meant 'that.' How the hell am I supposed to know? Neither woman is particularly verbose at the best of times…and certainly not when it comes to their private lives. Although…knowing Tara's story as well as I do, I would give you a very firm, unequivocal answer…nothing has happened or will ever happen."

Faith narrowed her eyes suspiciously, "Are you sure about that?"

"Tara loves Willow…always has…and always will…now can you tell me exactly what your jealousy has to do with finding the skull?"

"Nothing," Faith muttered sullenly, still clinging stubbornly to her suspicions. "Willow was dead for an awfully long time and Lara is the very definition of gorgeous, how could she at least not think about her?"

"I have absolutely no idea!" Giles replied in an exasperated tone. "I think you should be talking to Lara about this, not me!"

"Good heavens, I couldn't do that," Faith looked horrified. "She'll eat me alive for even contemplating such idiotic thoughts."

Faith gave Giles a rather half-hearted apologetic smile and beat a hasty retreat from his workroom, leaving the warlock in peace to continue his work.

Giles however thought it might take him a few minutes before he had calmed down enough to return to the complex formulas in front of him.

"Heaven help us all when we are surrounded by such strong-willed women." Even as he uttered the words Giles knew that they would not have a chance in hell of defeating Dracula if not for the strong-willed women that surrounded him. Still, he did wish that things could be a little less dramatic.


	34. What's in a Name?

**Chapter Thirty-Four  
What's in a name?**

The leaves crunched beneath her feet with each step she took. Although the sound was barely audible it filled her ears like a roar. She paused and crouched behind a partially collapsed crypt, back pressed firmly against the stone in order to hide her body in shadow.

Willing her busy mind into silence Willow concentrated on the other movement in the cemetery, the one she hunted. Her entire body was tense, from the stake balanced perfectly in one palm, to her feet positioned in readiness to attack in a heartbeat. She could not tell if her prey sensed her presence, knowing only too well that the noise it was making could be a deliberate ruse to draw potential prey out and into the open. On the other hand it could indicate that the vampire was newly turned and inexperienced. Willow let out a small sigh; she fervently hoped it was the former. The night had been dreadfully slow with virtually no activity. The only vampires she had seen had been furtive, cowardly shadows in the distance as they dared not venture out into the open.

It had been a slow night. Willow felt the need to dust at least one before returning home to sleep or she would write the night off as a complete waste of time…and she hated to waste time.

The vampire was moving straight towards her and it was at that moment that Willow knew her presence had not been detected. It would be a swift surprise and a quick staking. It was all too easy. Still, it was better than no prey at all.

Like a starving predator rising from an ambush, Willow emerged from the shadows of the crypt and into the moonlight. She knew what movements she ought to be making, a simple lunge forward, driving the stake into the dead heart of the vampire.

Everything went wrong from the moment she faced her prey and found herself staring into a pair of piercing blue eyes. Her forward movement was halted almost to the point where she was driven backwards by her surprise. She stood unsteadily, unable to do anything save stare at the one vampire she could not bring herself to destroy.

Tara's lips were parted slightly in shock, as though she too were surprised by Willow's presence. She remained standing still, making no obvious moves to brace herself for an attack despite the fact that Willow was poised with stake in hand.

"Willow," she whispered, an eternity of emotion and longing injected into just one small word. Her breath caught as she trailed off.

A surge of sudden anger moved through Willow's veins. After everything Tara had done to her, she did not have the right to say her name like that. To say her name as though they were only a heartbeat away from embracing and losing themselves in each other's flesh. Willow refused to allow herself to be distracted by the thought of losing herself in Tara's embrace, a task made all the more difficult by the memory of her encounter in the mirror just a few days previously. Her jaw tightened with determination but she still could not speak or move.

Suddenly she was gripped by an overwhelming internal force that kicked her body into motion. Willow had absolutely no control over her movements as she felt her weight shift forward and into an attacking stance. In one second she was facing Tara and the next she was surging forward with the stake drawn back ready to strike. She whipped her arm forward and the sharpened wood plunged easily into the middle of Tara's chest, almost as though it were being driven home by some instinctive force.

However, as Willow withdrew and waited expectantly for the vampire to revert to dust, she glanced down to notice the bright red blood coating the length of the stake. Through horrified eyes she stared up at Tara and still saw no dust explosion. It was normally so simple, if not exactly clean it was impersonal and emotionless. This however, this was not clean.

Blood bubbled forth in great, gushing quantities from the hole in Tara's chest.

"Tara?" Willow whispered in disbelief. She took one more look at the bloody stake in her hand before flinging it away in disgust.

She sank to her knees in the grass and reached out with both hands in a vain effort to stem the flow of blood from the hole. The eyes that met Willow's were wide with terror as blood began to bubble from her mouth as she took her last few breaths in immense pain.

Willow sat in shock as she felt the struggling heart beat its last. She glanced downwards at her hands. The crimson liquid continued to well between her tightly clenched fingers she willed the hole to close and the heart to beat once more. She continued to stare at the blood, if only to avoid having to look back into the blue eyes that were empty of everything save an accusation.

Willow could hear the words as though Tara were still alive to speak them. _I never stopped loving you…when did you stop loving me?_

Willow's entire body jerked upright jerked upright and she slammed her head sharply into window at her back, luckily not cracking the pane of glass. As she sat rubbing the back of her head she realised she had fallen asleep on the window seat in her bedroom, the book which she remembered being on her lap had fallen to the floor. Her hands were pale and empty in her lap…although they were unstained by Tara's blood she immediately starting scrubbing them together as though trying to wipe them clean.

"Never," Willow whispered to herself as she wiped her hands on her thighs. "I never stopped loving you."

* * *

"You're looking a bit peaky, Will."

Willow glanced up upon hearing Faith's comment and she frowned, glancing at herself in a hall mirror as they passed it. She noticed the slight red flush to her cheeks that had caught Faith's attention. She stubbornly explained this away by reminding herself of the fact that they had just climbed several flights of stairs to reach Gordon Square's second floor. However, there were other signs aside from the flush, her cheek bones were more prominent than usual and her lips tightly drawn. It was more than simply climbing flights of stairs.

Willow shrugged, unwilling to share even with Faith, "I'm fine…just a little exertion 'tis all." She paused in front of a closed, heavy door and then glanced down the wide but dark corridor ahead. She shivered slightly, especially with the realisation that no one had set foot in the corridor since Abraham had died.

Given the fact that Giles was becoming overly anxious about the skull, Willow had promised to undertake a room by room search of Gordon Square. If not hoping to find the skull itself, then at least some clue as to its whereabouts. Before commencing the task she had not truly appreciated just how many rooms the house actually had. She had begun to get an understanding of the immensity of the task while searching the first floor, although she already knew her own room and Abraham's inside out. The guest bedrooms too were relatively simple and appeared not to hold any secrets. The second floor and attic however, were another story entirely. Although Abraham had spent some time sequestered away in his office, she could remembered very little occasion for venturing up there. She suspected that following her death, her brother had spent even more time in its dark halls. While she suspected she was possibly being foolish, she could swear that she felt a suffocating presence surrounding her on this particular floor. It was a presence that did not remind her of the brother she knew…but she knew it could be the monster her brother had become following her death.

"Well?" Faith prodded in an exasperated tone, she knew that the glazed look in Willow's eyes meant she was not wholly in the corridor with her.

Willow's head jerked slightly in surprise. "What?"

Faith rolled her eyes in an exaggerated fashion. "Are you going to stand out here all day or do you want me to go in and check the room for ghouls and ghosties first?"

"Oh, sorry, I was woolgathering," Willow admitted, managing a half-hearted apologetic grin as though she promised to restore her full attention to the task at hand.

"Not an uncommon occurrence," Faith replied in a tight-lipped, barely audible voice. When Willow flashed her a mildly pained expression she quickly pulled out a smile of her own although there was no hint of an apology. "So…would you like me to open that door for you?"

Faith's pointed suggestion had an intended effect on Willow. She finally stiffened her hunched shoulders and focused on the door as though it led into a pit of daemon hounds as opposed to the innocuous enough room that did lay behind it. The door creaked somewhat and a musty smell emerged from the sealed room, both slightly ominous signs. However, as soon as Willow flicked the light switch, a faint golden glow bathed what was an exceptionally busy little room.

One entire wall was lined with book shelves stacked with thick leather-bound books and papers. A heavy desk made of what appeared to be mahogany took up the space beneath the windows. It was still covered in papers as though whoever had been working there had intended to return.

Willow frowned as she passed beneath the doorway. "I don't remember this room."

"But it's filled with books," Faith observed the obvious. "It's like a miniature Willow-heaven or something to that effect."

Willow crossed the floor and drew one thick book down from a nearby shelf. She held it open to reveal column after column of notations and numbers and for once she appeared to be thinking exactly the same thing as Faith, complete disinterest. "Account ledgers…hardly interesting reading material. I'm not sure without looking through all of them but I suppose they're land-owning records...accounts for whatever one has to take account of when one owns land…and animals. I suppose how many pigs one owns and how much it costs to feed said pig."

"I thought pigs just ate scraps?" Faith was quick to point out the flaw in Willow's hypothetical example but she did not wait for Willow to favour her observation with a reply before moving onto an issue of more significance. "What happened to your family fortune?"

"I do not know for certain…but I think this house must be all that remains," Willow commented, quickly banishing all thoughts of the word 'fortune' from her head. It was the root of all evil in her books, the reason Tara had been forced to marry Edward Walsh. She was personally glad there was no longer a Van Helsing fortune.

"Well, the Van Helsings must have owned a great deal of land judging by the number of books in here," Faith commented as she spun on her heels to take in the book laden shelves. She then stopped spinning and looked at Willow with a reluctant expression. "Please don't tell me we have to look through every single one?"

Willow glanced over her shoulder at Faith as she moved towards the desk and gave a distinct, 'what do you think?' glare. With an exaggerated groan, Faith moved to the nearest shelf and ripped a ledger down as though she imagined she was yanking out the throat of a vampire. She gathered several more and retreated to a rather worn armchair nestled in one corner, afterwards moving only to turn a page or look up and cast a withering glare in Willow's direction.

If Willow felt Faith's annoyed gaze burning a hole in the back of her head, she did not feel the need to respond in any way. She faced the one wall that was not obscured by furniture of any kind and found it plastered from floorboard to ceiling with all manner of paper. Two large maps took up much of the centre of the room; there was one large map of England and next to that a smaller scale map of Europe. Both maps were covered in a series of notations in Abraham's writing and bright red scraps of fabric in different locations. Radiating out from the maps were more notes written on scraps of paper and newspaper cuttings.

Willow scanned several of Abraham's notes and realised almost immediately what the purpose behind the wall was… it was his search for Tara. She knew if she took the time to read each note and clipping, she would be able to map out his entire obsession, from the year of her own death to the year he finally caught Tara and imprisoned her. Tentatively she reached up and laid her fingers on one yellowed clipping, a sensationalised account of the brutal murder of an entire family in Dover which made a great deal of the savage neck wounds found on the victims.

Unwilling to face such similar accounts, Willow drew her gaze away from the wall and turned her attention to the desk. She could almost see her brother seated behind its great bulk, working feverishly as he sought to unravel the whereabouts of his sister's killer.

She moved close enough to reach out and touch it. Tentatively, she ran her hands over the smooth wooden lines of the chair tucked neatly against the desk. As she grasped it and tugged it backwards she wondered how many times her brother had repeated the same motion. Willow folded herself into the chair and stared at the ledger that lay squarely in the middle of the desk in front of her. Glittering in embossed gilt letters on the front was the name, 'Van Helsing.' She tentatively reached out and traced each letter of the name. She felt strange when realising that although she felt as if she was staring at her own name, she in fact wasn't. Her name was Willow Rosenberg. It was the name given to her by a family she had never really belonged to…and even less since they had disowned her after her violent outburst.

Willow took up a nearby pen and opened a fresh jar of ink, still useable after however long it had sat on her brother's desk. She then drew a sheet of paper in front of her and sat staring at its creamy emptiness for a few moments before making her next move. Dipping her pen in the ink she wrote in a firm hand - _Willow Van Helsing_. The letters flowed effortlessly into words and together they made up the complete picture, a picture of the life she had once lived.

Directly beneath that name, she wrote another - _Willow Rosenberg_. As she wrote she found the flow of her pen stunted and awkward, as though she did not feel right in writing that name. Willow pursed her lips together for a moment and then on a whim wrote a third name - _Willow Van Rosenberg._ She smirked a little as she read it. It was distinctly odd…and yet was she herself not an odd individual?

When Faith eventually moved from the armchair in the corner, the sound brought Willow back to reality. Willow straightened slightly and realised that she had filled the entire page in front of her with _Willow Van Rosenberg_ over and over. With a slight embarrassed flush to her cheeks she crumpled the page. She then sighed wearily and swivelled in the chair to watch Faith replace several books and seize several more with no more enthusiasm than before.

As though she sensed Willow staring at her she turned and was unsurprised when her instinct was proven right.

"Having a laugh at my expense?" Faith asked with an arched eyebrow.

Willow blinked a few times as though she was not really looking at Faith at all. Rather than reply, she hastily stood from her chair and crossed the room to stand directly in front of Faith. Without offering the other woman any explanation, she reached out gave one of the ledgers a sharp tug. Both women had to take a leap backwards to avoid the section of bookshelf which swung outwards.

"Just how many of those things are there in this house?" Faith dumped her latest pile of ledgers unceremoniously on the floor and examined the newly revealed opening with interest.

The opening was almost half the size of the passage leading from Gordon Square's library to the training room. When fully opened it was revealed that it did not lead to another passageway at all, but rather a solid, black door with a brass handle and large knob in the centre…a safe.

Faith let out an excited breath. "It's an obvious guess…but where else in this house would you keep an exceptionally dangerous object that you dare not let fall into anyone else's hands? A slight problem given that we don't have any clue as to the combination. Will?"

Willow did not seem surprised in the slightest to find a safe behind the hidden door. She merely cocked her head for a moment as though she were thinking. "As a matter of fact…"

As she made to move in front of the safe, Faith stepped aside to make room. Without fully thinking about what she was doing, Willow twirled the large brass knob back and forth, each time stopping on a select number. At the floor turn she heard an audible click and then glanced over her shoulder to see Faith standing directly behind her wearing a rather impressed expression.

"Do I even want to ask you how the bloody hell you knew that?"

Willow shrugged. "Abraham told me once…although he handled everything to do with money he felt it important for me to know what it was and chose something that would be easy to remember. The combination was our butler's birthday."

Faith shook her head in bewilderment, "I still cannot get over the fact that you speak of such past times as though you were there."

"I was there, Faith," Willow reminded her friend in a matter-of-fact tone as she reached for the safe's handle.

Pausing for a moment to get a grip on the large brass lever, Willow then yanked it downwards and with Faith's help, pulled the heavy door outwards.

The sight in front of them caused both women to gasp; even Faith was struck silent for almost a minute before she was able to reply. Beside her she heard Willow utter a loud sniff.

"I don't see the skull," Faith announced slowly.

However, what she and Willow were looking at was the safe's interior jammed full with solid gold sovereigns. Faith reached in and withdrew one to examine it more closely. It was nothing short of real. She heard Willow sniff again as she ran her thumb over its solid surface before looking back into the safe. While there was no telling exactly how much money was inside, it was safe to assume that it was a great deal.

Willow sniffed loudly and it was only when Faith turned to suggest that Willow find her handkerchief that she noticed the other woman was actually crying. Thick tears rolled down her cheeks despite her obvious efforts to stem the flow by sniffing and dashing them away with her fist. Faith tossed the sovereign to the floor and reached out for Willow, laying a hand on her back in what was supposed to be a soothing manner.

"Okay, Will, the discovery of money is not supposed to be a sad occasion," Faith pointed out in what she hoped was a helpful tone.

"What good is it?" Willow whispered in a broken voice.

"Well…it's money, it's good for a lot of things," Faith stated the obvious with a slight shrug.

"It won't help us find the skull," Willow straightened from her crouching position to stand, she'd managed to contain her brief bout of crying but her eyes were red-rimmed and her shoulder slumped as though she were about to give up on something

"It has to help though, right?" Faith prompted tentatively, she tried to inject an element of enthusiasm into her voice. "Let's forget this for an hour or so, what do you say we head down to the training room. I've a new crossbow bolt I've been dying to try out."

"Pass," Willow said as she paused wiping away her tears to stifle a weary yawn. "I might retire for the evening."

The two women left the second floor together, before parting company to go in their separate directions, Faith turned to Willow and took her gently by the shoulder so she could not turn away. She saw all too clearly the pain in her eyes and knew that something other than the skull was eating away at her from the inside.

"Are you sure you're okay, Will?" she asked gently.

Willow managed a small smile that completely contradicted her drawn face. "I am fine…honestly."

Willow parted ways as her friend moved downstairs and she to her bedroom. She hated having to lie to Faith, but did not want to have to admit what had really set her off at the sight of the money in her safe.

It was a harsh reminder that all the money in the world was not going to bring her what she wanted most of all - Tara.

She sat on the edge of her bed for all of half a minute before realising that she had absolutely no desire to sleep. With a renewed purpose she stood and crossed to her wardrobe, stripping items of clothing as she moved. When she was down to her underwear, she pulled out her hunting clothes. On went her dark breeches and shirt, battered breastplate and finally a jacket to keep the cold night air at bay.

Willow finished her outfit with a select compliment of weapons, just a few stakes and the silver sabre which had come to be her weapon of choice even though she couldn't help but feel a slight pang of loss for her katana every time her fingers wrapped around its plain, unadorned hilt.

She elected to use the window as her exit point as per usual. While she knew that Faith would already be in the training room, filling an unfortunate target dummy with new holes, there was no telling where Myles would be. The young man was sure to try and stop her leaving the house or even worse, beg to be taken along. Willow preferred hunting alone.

The night was cool and Willow lightly jogged the distance to an almost abandoned cemetery that she hoped would be rife with demonic activity. She had barely worked up a sweat upon arrival at the giant and ominous wrought gates that heralded the entrance to the dark area. Her excitement however was well stoked as she discreetly drew a stake from within her jacket. This feeling increased with each step that took her further into the cemetery, further towards danger and the sense of really being alive.

She did not need to wait long to find her first vampire of the evening, he found her. Willow heard the leaves and twigs crunching beneath his feet before he drew near enough to touch her but she allowed him to think that he had taken her completely by surprised. As his fingers were about to close on the back of her neck, Willow whipped around

Willow paused, for a few awful seconds she was unable to bring herself to drive the take into the vampire's chest. Her mind insistently repeated images from her dream, images of stabbing Tara's still beating heart and the gushing blood that followed.

Sensing an opportunity in his opponent's hesitation, the vampire's arm darted out and caught her across the throat. Willow went flying backwards, struggling for a breath. She landed hard across a headstone, further knocking the wind out of her body and the stake from her hand. There was no time to recover as the vampire picked himself up and seized her by the shoulders. As he bared his fangs and lowered them towards her neck she lashed out with her heel, driving it downwards hard onto his foot. While it did very little, it was enough for Willow to find enough room to swing her arm. Her balled fist caught him across the jaw with enough momentum to jerk his whole body sideways. Willow brought both hands upwards and then outwards to rip his fingers from her neck. With a guttural roar she slammed her head into against the space just above his nose in a perfectly timed move that sent him reeling backwards. She followed up the Liverpool Kiss by smashing the flat of her foot into his chest.

When he fell to the ground, there was no longer any hesitation on Willow's part. She leapt onto his fallen form and drove the stake home with another savage yell. A few moments later the vampire exploded into a small cloud of dust, just as he should. Willow crouched over the spot where the body had been for a moment and realised in the calm that her heart was beating so quickly she was in danger of passing out. After drawing a few deep breaths, she was able to stand once more and scan the cemetery for her next target.

As Willow hoped, her flurry of activity in chasing down the vampire had drawn out several more. While most had managed to make their escape into the darkness while Willow was occupied, two remained. One was clearly incapacitated; his leg was jammed out at an odd angle as though it had been broken. He was terribly thin as though he had not eaten for some time. Willow was hardly surprised, if she could walk up to him to stake him, then she hardly expected him to be able to run to catch his food.

The staking was somewhat reluctant. She hated to think of herself as putting the vampire out of its misery. Even so, once she plunged the stake into his chest as he cowered on the ground in front of her she felt another surge of triumph flow through her veins.

The second vampire who lingered in the cemetery had been more than capable of fleeing the scene, she had however chosen to remain and fight. As Willow stared at the dark-haired, blue-eyed vampire, she realised that they were probably both as bored as the other.

"You fight well," she said simply, her voice low and husky.

Willow was not impressed that she had found a talkative vampire; she did not offer up a reply and instead moved into an attacking stance. A split second later she surged forward with both her body and her blade. The vampire was forced to block hastily or be gutted by Willow's silver sword.

As they began to trade blows, the female vampire obviously realised that Willow was in no mood for friendly conversation. With talking off the agenda, she proved to be a formidable opponent, far more so than Willow's first two kills of the evening.

Together they danced across a wide area of the cemetery, using headstones and trees alike as obstacles and points of leverage from which to try and gain the upper hand over the other.

With a small measure of exhaustion beginning to set in, Willow momentarily losing track of her footing and caught her foot on a gnarled tree root. She stumbled awkwardly and was forced to take desperate action to block the downward blow that followed as the vampire tried to take advantage of the moment. The vampire let out a savage roar as she sensed victory but her enthusiasm was her undoing. Willow saw the blow coming a long way off, the vampire was aiming to take her head off but she drew her arm back further than was necessary.

Still slightly off balance, Willow moved low and ducked beneath the swing of the vampire's sword to bring her own weapon upwards in a deadly arc. Barely missing a beat, Willow split the vampire open from crotch to neck. She fell back writhing in pain and collapsed to the ground.

Even as the vampire exploded into dust at her feet, Willow felt as though there were eyes on her back. She spun sharply as the dust settled around her feet to scan the shadows behind her. With her eyes narrowed and the stake clenched tightly in her fist, she prepared herself for another attack.

There was nothing behind her save trees bare of leaves and the lonely crypts and gravestones of the long-forgotten dead. Willow made to take a few steps forward but dismissed the feeling as her excited mind playing tricks on her. Tucking the stake back into the inside of her jacket, she turned towards home, counting three dustings as a very respectable total for the night.

For once Willow's instincts had let her down, deep within the shadows at her back a figure stood and watched her intently…just as he had watched her hunt and destroy the three vampires. A small smile creased his face; he had enjoyed his observations immensely. Willow Van Helsing was indeed as formidable as ever and he could look forward to their meeting after all this time.

Dracula pushed aside his coat and felt the reassuring hilt of the sword he wore at his waist. He knew if he had a heart beat, it would be quickening in response to his excitement. With the smile still fixed on his face, he shifted into his misty form to travel the short distance that separated him from Willow. When he reformed directly in front of her he was rewarded with the expression of blatant shock on her face. He also dared to think that there might be a little fear mixed in as well.

When he spoke the tone of his voice was as if he were seeing an old friend for the first time in many years.

"Willow Van Helsing."


	35. Face to Face

**Chapter Thirty-Five  
Face to Face**

As the night wore on, the temperature dropped even further and the first splatters of rain hit London's streets. The drunks, whores and thieves who were the only souls out, braved the wet weather until they realised that it was increasing in intensity with each passing minute. Eventually even they were driven to seek somewhere dry. Those with money to spare headed for a tavern or whorehouse, while their less fortunate friends had to shelter beneath a bridge.

A figure perched on a rooftop high above watched the streets empty with a vague sort of indifference. People scurried like ants towards shelter as she stared from beneath the deep hood of her cloak. She tilted her face heavenwards and let the rain drops pelt her skin.

While Tara could feel each drop strike her face, the icy temperature did not affect her in the slightest. She did however feel the water begin to seep beneath her cloak and soak the clothes she wore beneath. Eventually she lowered her face and reached up to tug her hood as far over her head as possible. Despite the intensity of the rain, the water beaded and slid off the cloak.

It had been raining for just a few minutes when she felt a presence join her. Instead of turning to see who it was she continued to stare at the dark streets below. The streets were now empty of life, with no moonlight or street light; the steadily pooling water seemed to swallow the buildings whole.

Eventually whoever it was standing behind her grew impatient and she heard an abrupt, forced cough. It was all she needed to know exactly who it was, and she had no interest in speaking to him.

"Bugger off," Tara muttered testily, refusing to even turn and look at the other vampire. "I'm busy."

"Yeah, I can see you're real busy," William drawled.

Although Tara did not hear him actually move, she could tell he was now just behind her shoulder. She shivered involuntarily as though she could feel his body pressed against hers. Tara glanced down at the ledge beneath her feet and then at the street several floors below. There was no way she could step away from William without stepping off the building. While she had no desire to talk to him, there was something in his tone that told her he wanted to speak to her. She waited, forcing him to make another attempt at conversation.

"I would think that someone in your position would at least have the sense to appreciate help when it appears, whatever the guise." Tara heard William's voice sound just behind her ear, with another step his body was pressed tightly against her back, moments later she felt hands on each of her shoulders and fought to resist cringing away from his touch. "You do want my help don't you, Tara?"

"I cannot imagine a time where I would want or need your help, William," Tara replied in a condescending tone. "Now run along back to your dark hole and leave me be."

He laughed, a gravely sound that irritated her to the point where she longed to turn and rip a chunk of skin from his birdlike neck. She could not however stomach the thought of putting her lips to his loathsome flesh. At the moment she uttered a weary sigh, he changed his grip so he had her by the upper arms. He then whirled her about with a violent jerk so she was staring at him, her face just inches from his own.

Tara did not give him a chance to speak, she snarled in anger. "You would think to irritate me by manhandling me in this manner? Do you want to suffer the same fate as Angelus?"

A flicker of realisation passed over William's face at the mention of their former colleague, he smirked dangerously in response. "You would admit to destroying him?"

"I admit nothing," Tara replied coldly. She turned her face so she did not have to meet his beady gaze.

"So you will not admit to your feelings for the hunter?" William continued.

_Why_ _did I know he was going to ask me about Willow? _"I have no need…there is nothing for me to admit."

William reached out and roughly seized her by the chin, his nails digging in as he forced her to look directly at him once again. Her fierce gaze in response reflected every ounce of her loathing for the rake thin vampire. Even with his grip on her chin she managed to twist her mouth into a sneer.

"Then you should rejoice that our master has gone to her tonight!" he announced with fervour.

"That is my task!" Tara could not keep the emotion from creeping into her voice. She hoped however she merely sounded furious as opposed to afraid. "Our master placed her exclusively in my hands!"

"And he has grown tired of you always stalling our work. Five years have passed since you discovered that Van Helsing whore had been reborn and in that time you have delivered us nothing! We are no closer to finding the skull and our master's patience has expired. He will retrieve her and extract the location of the skull by whatever means necessary."

Tara forced herself to remain calm even though she knew William to be speaking the truth. She could not believe she had been blind enough to miss noticing their growing distrust. However it was too late now, her worst nightmare was becoming a reality.

"She does not leave her home in the evening," Tara stated, trying to inject a false air of confidence into her voice. "He has no invitation."

William laughed. "The vampires she destroyed tonight would say otherwise."

_Willow you stupid girl!_ "I should be at his side! Give me the location!" Tara demanded, trying to maintain her icy resolve.

"I am only here to help," William cocked his head to one side. There was a vicious glint in his eyes. "And you would help our master by staying away!"

Tara narrowed her eyes in response, she jerked her chin free from his grip but did not try and move away as she finally allowed herself to say the words she had long believed inside, "He is not my master."

At Tara's bold revelation, William's bony features contorted into a mask of rage. He roughly seized the front of her cloak and with a last growl he shoved her backwards. Tara allowed the force of William's shove to send her flying from the rooftop. She continued looking at him even as her form dissolved into grey mist and blended with the night.

It was obvious from his actions that he had been ordered not to kill her and from this Tara drew the conclusion that Dracula did not know exactly where she stood. She suspected that his plan would be to confront her himself and ensure her loyalty by having her participate in his torture of Willow. It was a situation she could not allow to come to pass…the confrontation would be on her terms, not his, and it would be tonight.

Tara could only hope that by the time she found Willow, she would not be too late.

* * *

As he said her name, Willow allowed Dracula's soft tones to wash over her like water. If they were intended to have any sort of effect on her, they failed. Instead she tightened her grip on the silver sword in her hand, keeping it out in front of her like a barrier between her and the Lord of Vampires.

While Willow stared at his perfect features she found herself drifting back to the last time they had met - on the battlefield at Covasna. Even though it had been Willow Van Helsing who had fought that desperate and ultimately tragic fight, she remembered every detail as clearly as though she herself had been there. From his overly polished sword but essentially brutish work to his ability to dissolve his body as Tara did, Willow replayed the events of that fight in her mind. She searched for a weakness. Although she could remember him tiring to the point where he could no longer change form, Willow could not help but wonder whether that had merely been a ruse to lull her into a false sense of security. Throughout that fight, Dracula had known that Tara would always betray her mortal lover; he had been secure in that knowledge. Now he stood in front of her, apparently alone, and yet entirely unpredictable.

Willow let out a shallow breath. A part of her wished she had heeded the advice of her friends and stayed indoors but the larger part by far was fervently glad that she had left herself open to this confrontation. She allowed a confident smile to creep onto her face.

"Dracula," Willow inclined her head in a mocking greeting. "I see no minions. Has the passage of time caused you to forget our previous confrontation? I believe I was mere seconds away from ending your terrible reign."

He laughed in a honeyed tone. Such was the power of his allure that for a moment Willow was reminded of being at a ball during the London season, surrounded by gay revellers in all their finery. The thought was fleeting as she firmly reminded herself that he was a creature to be feared and hated despite his considerable charms.

"Being reincarnated has caused you to lose none of your spirit, Willow Van Helsing," he paused for a moment. "Or do you prefer Rosenberg?"

Willow shrugged, not taking her eyes of him for an instant. "I prefer neither coming from your lips…but it is of little consequence in the end as no amount of conversation is going to help you find the skull…after all, that's why you're here isn't it?"

If Willow's abrupt announcement fazed Dracula in the least, then he did not let it show on his handsome features. He took his eyes off her and paced a few steps to the right, as though he was enjoying a pleasant evening's stroll as opposed to a conversation with an enemy. His stroll was further ruined a moment later as drops of rain began to fall from the heavens, indiscriminate as to where they landed.

Willow kept her gaze trained on Dracula as the rain fell around her. It went seemingly unnoticed even as it plastered her red hair to her head and began to soak through the shoulders of her coat.

"I cannot deny that the whereabouts of the skull consumes my thoughts," he whispered with barely concealed longing.

"Well you're completely out of luck, old boy," Willow replied jauntily. "I haven't a bloody clue as to where the damn thing is. It goes without saying that even if I did know where it was, you'd be the last person I'd tell."

Dracula paced back in the opposite direction until he was standing directly in front of Willow once more. With a slight flourish he drew the slender blade he wore at his waist and held in lightly in his hand as though reassuring himself of its weight. He then pointed it in Willow's direction.

"You'll be surprised just how much of a 'bloody clue' you will have after I'm finished with you…people remember all manner of things during torture," Dracula's voice lingered over the word 'torture' as though it were a special pleasure of his.

"Was that a threat?" Willow asked coldly, any trace of humour disappeared completely from her voice. She adjusted her stance slightly in readiness for the first move. The idea of being tortured by Dracula himself was already starting to cast an unsavoury light on the evening's proceedings...making her all too aware of the high stakes she was playing with. Willow knew that she needed to be the one walking away from this fight.

They circled each other warily, two carefully poised figures moving amidst the headstones, completely ignoring the rain that fell around them. As it appeared that neither wanted to make the first move, Willow darted forward. She sprang lightly atop a nearby headstone to gain additional leverage and brought her blade crashing downwards as she leapt down. Her blade sliced through nothing but air as Dracula's form dissolved.

Willow sensed him reappear behind her, she whirled and already had her blade raised to block his stroke. She was far from worried as he dissolved a second time, knowing that he tired eventually. It was just a matter of keeping her wits about her lest he surprise her with a sudden strike when she was caught off guard.

"I suppose you think this is terribly unfair?" he laughed as he reformed for the fourth or fifth time, this time several metres away from Willow.

"No," Willow replied, hastily dragging a clump of soggy hair from her eyes before assuming another attacking stance, "It proves your cowardice!"

When she moved forward once more, she found him there to match each of her blows in his solid form. Far from being unnerved, Willow was pleased to find that her words had an effect on the vampire. They continued to par every move the other made, the clash of blades ringing out over the sound of falling rain. The pair were evenly matched without a doubt, Willow's technique and finesse was matched by Dracula's strength. She did not block his blows directly but rather let them glance of her blade so as to lessen the shock to her body.

One backhanded blow slid from her sword and as he overbalanced Willow thrust firmly towards his chest. Dracula barely managed to stumble backwards, the closeness of Willow's strike revealed by the tear in his coat from the tip of her blade.

Dracula danced aside lightly from the narrow miss and flourished his blade in his hand, moving as though his feet did not even need to touch the ground. "You are talented without a doubt…but I think you have lost something with your reincarnation. Willow Van Helsing possessed an air of wild fearlessness that made her powerful…you are nothing but a poor copy."

Although Willow knew that she could not afford to let him bait her, his words hit home cruelly. As if to prove him wrong, she pressed forward her next attack immediately. Her feet moved rapidly across the now rain soaked grass. The silver sword in her hand moved to match in a flurry of carefully timed strokes. Dracula matched her delicacy with sheer brute force, smashing his sword into hers at each stroke.

"That's better!" Dracula announced as though he were pleased with her work.

She growled angrily and became even more determined in her attacks. Her determination steadily began to erode her concentration. Now, once beautiful strokes became clumsy in increasingly desperate attacks.

"Splendid!"

It was the last straw and her temper flared as she retorted, "Shut up you foul piece of filth!"

The tip of her blade fell as she forgot her stance as she concentrated on arguing with words. Before she could even think about blocking his next stroke, it stroke crashed against the top of her breastplate. The stroke violently jarred her sword arm and she lost her grip. Before she could regain her balance he lashed out and backhanded her across the face, a powerful blow which sent her reeling in a daze. Willow stumbled, her feet did not appear to work properly…either that or the ground was moving beneath her feet. She was dimly aware of rough hands on the back of her coat, seizing fistfuls of the fabric in order to get a firm grip. She was helpless to stop him from throwing her forward. Although her vision was already clouded, she clearly saw the marble tombstone rushing towards her. Then there was nothing but pain and impenetrable fog.

Dracula felt a final thrill of exhilaration as he released Willow and sent her flying headfirst into the grave stone. With a resounding crack her head struck the tarnished marble and when she came to rest in the wet grass she was unconscious. He was not about to lower his guard even when she lay motionless. His sword remained unsheathed as he advanced towards her prone form. He reached out with the toe of his boot and nudged her body. There was not even a groan as she rolled over onto her back. Thick dark blood welled from a contusion at her hairline and he stared fixedly at it even as it was diluted by the pouring rain.

Finally he allowed himself to relax enough to go down on one knee at her side. He stared down at the creamy skin of the woman laid out in front of him and felt a primal longing in his loins to take her in the middle of the cemetery in the pouring rain. No woman since Tara had commanded such a power over him. He was transfixed at the sight of her blue veins throbbing just beneath the pale skin of her throat.

He reached his hand towards her, already anticipating the feel of her skin to his touch. However he stopped just inches from her face, knowing that one touch would be too much for him to bear. He would wait until his patience could be rewarded with a quiet space in which he would not be disturbed with his prize.

The pleasant thoughts that were running through his mind were rudely disrupted a moment later as a solid force seized him and tossed him backwards. He flew several metres threw the air, his momentum arrested only as his back hit the side of a crypt with such intensity that the crumbling wall cracked and gave way slightly.

When he returned himself to his feet he saw a familiar figure through the rain, standing protectively over the body of Willow Van Helsing. Dracula straightened and stood staring at a distance. Her fierce blue gaze pierced both darkness and rain. He knew in those eyes that something had changed within his favourite companion…and he immediately did not like it.

"Tara?" he asked cautiously as he approached, his boots barely sinking into the puddles beneath his feet.

She pushed back her hood even though it was clear that he had doubt as to who she was. The rain fell on her white blonde hair.

"William was kind enough to fill me in on your plan," she answered as he drew near. "Apparently you no longer trust me."

He shook his head in an effort to dispel that notion. "Of course I trust you my pet, I merely sought to attempt a new tactic with our mortal friend - a tactic which I am sure you and I will enjoy sharing in immensely."

His words left Tara under no disillusion as to what he intended. She cringed as she remembered his 'sport' with the red haired young woman some years ago and her own dreadful part in that death. History would be repeating itself, only this time he intended it to be the real Willow helpless beneath his powerful body. His words also left her absolutely no choice as to her course of actions. It was over. All pretence at maintaining her role as his partner would be stripped away and her treachery would be laid bare before her former master. Tara felt an amount of exhilaration and relief at finally being able to step out from beneath his twisted shadow even though she knew she would be signing her own death warrant.

"I will share in nothing," Tara replied, lifting her chin defiantly.

He smirked appreciatively. "I realise that you would not want to share this particular mortal. You would rather have her all to yourself but you must understand that I have a great deal invested in Willow Van Helsing, she must tell me where the skull is."

"She must do nothing for you!" Tara interrupted in a sudden, thunderous voice.

Dracula hesitated in his reply. Such insubordination would have been swiftly punished had it been any mere underling but it was a sign of the hold that Tara possessed over him that he appeared confused. "Tara, my darling."

Tara saw this confusion and used it to her advantage. Cautiously she lowered herself to the ground at Willow's side and dared for a moment to glance down. Her gaze first fell on the blood flowing from Willow's head and her almost colourless skin. The worst however was quickly dispelled when she saw the gentle rise and fall of Willow's chest. With an overly cautious touch lest Willow be seriously injured, Tara reached out and placed one arm beneath her limp body. She cradled the unconscious woman in her lap protectively before returning her gaze to the vampire moving slowly towards her. His eyes widened as he realised her intentions.

"Think carefully before you do this, Tara," Dracula whispered in a dreadful tone that was tinged with ice and fire. "If you choose that mortal over me then I shall be forced to hunt you down. I promise you that there will be nowhere on earth for you to run!"

"I chose this mortal over you decades ago!" Tara admitted proudly. "Do you really think that a soulled vampire would continue to be your loyal servant, would continue to do the foul things you order and not rebel?"

"You are still one of us!" he roared, making a sudden lunge towards Tara and Willow.

He was already too late. Tara had already begun mouthing the complex words of a transportation spell beneath her breath. By the time his fingers reached the space she had occupied, she was already gone with Willow.

* * *

"For god's sake, Myles!" Faith growled in exasperation as she examined the flurry of arrows protruding from one of the practice dummies in the Gordon Square training room. "The target isn't that small. You should at least be able to hit it!"

Faith gave a rather loud snort of disgust as she retrieved Myles's crossbow bolt. Instead of striking the target, the bolt had hit the brick wall to one side and the silver head had bent so as to make it unusable. She sighed and wondered if dummy wooden bolts would work as well in training, especially given that Myles had an uncanny knack for putting the bolt everywhere except the target. Just yesterday he had narrowly missed her ear when he released his crossbow by mistake.

Having retrieved the bolt, she marched back to the red-faced young man and stabbed it at the weapon Myles clutched in his hands, "What's so difficult? Here's the crossbow, there's the target. Fire, and hit it!"

Myles ducked his head for a moment and bit his lip in the face of Faith's tirade, when he lifted his gaze he appeared to be steeling himself to say something.

"What?" Faith demanded.

"Can Willow train me?" Myles asked hopefully.

"Why, what's wrong with me?" Faith asked indignantly. "I'm a far better shot than Willow!"

"You are..." Myles began tentatively. "But you're not a very good teacher. You are rather impatient and you don't explain things very well. You just expect me to be able to perform every task perfectly."

Faith narrowed her eyes as though she was about to launch into another furious speech. However, her expression softened and she sighed resignedly, "I'm sorry, Myles. You have to understand that I'm hard on you for your own good. This isn't a game. If you miss a vampire with your bolt on the first go; it's highly unlikely that they will just line up for a second shot."

"I know," Myles nodded fervently, his understanding came a little too quickly for Faith, she held out her hand for the cross bow and he passed it over reluctantly.

"Perhaps I was a little too hard on you," Faith admitted as the expression on his face tugged at some deeply buried reserve of pity.

"Can we try again tomorrow night?" Myles asked tentatively.

"Only if I don't murder you in your sleep," Faith replied with a frustrated sigh. "Now scoot…and don't forget to wash behind your ears before you go to bed."

Faith watched the young man practically skip out of the training room and shook her head slowly. She did not want to be the one to tell him that all the enthusiasm in the world did not make up for a complete lack of co-ordination.

To work out her frustration, she selected a wooden stave from the rack of weapons and began moving through some simple exercises. She concentrated on fluidity and timing as opposed to speed and strength with the aim of bringing about a peaceful state of mind that would help her to sleep.

However, she had completed less than a dozen forms when the air rippled in front of her just as she took a step backwards. A blast of cold, wet air slapped her in the face. She was knocked off balance and the stave was torn from her loose grip. A dark shape materialised out of nowhere and hit the mats with a dull thud.

"Bloody hell!" she yelped, cursing herself for not having any weapon close at hand other than a large stick.

Faith glanced at the spot where she had been standing moments earlier and her eyes widened when she saw two bodies lying on the training room floor amidst a pool of water. Both were clad entirely in black but she recognised them instantly. The blonde haired vampire appeared even paler than usual but her eyes were open and staring at the ceiling above her head. At her side lay Willow, apparently unconscious, with fresh blood coating the side of her face.

"Will!" Faith dashed forward and fell to her knees at Willow's side.

Tara tried to lift her head but even such a simple act proved impossible. Her entire body felt like a puddle except for her head wherein her brain pounded against her skull in a manner that was definitely unnatural. She had to close her eyes. Despite her pain, she was dimly aware of a weight lying against her side and knew that Willow had made the journey with her.

The transportation spell was without a doubt dangerous but she knew it had been her only means of whisking Willow out from Dracula's clutches. Whatever the state she was now in, she was fervently glad that she had risked it. The thought of Willow being tortured by her former master made her sick to the stomach.

Giving herself a few more moments to just breathe, she then opened her eyes and immediately found herself staring into a pair of hard eyes. Faith's presence confirmed to Tara that she had successfully reached her intended destination; she and Willow were safely within the walls of Gordon Square.

With a second, more concentrated effort, Tara found that she was able to sit. She rose and steeled herself for the inevitable spasms of pain behind her eyes.

Faith's concern was solely directed towards the redhead lying at Tara's side. "What have you done to her?"

"I should think the more relevant question would be why did you let her leave the house at night?" Tara growled. "Dracula found her and he had every intention of torturing her for the whereabouts of the skull before I showed up."

"I let her do no such thing!" Faith replied indignantly. "Even if I did, do you really think that I could keep Willow locked up when she wanted to leave?"

Tara knew Willow and she knew what the answer would be, she shook her head slowly. "I think Willow will be fine."

"Can we not heal her…as you did at Covasna?" Faith asked, peering worriedly at the wound.

"It is best not to try," Tara admitted. "I acted out of sheer desperation in that instance. It was dangerous for all three of us. I think that she will recover just as swiftly if I do not intervene."

Faith nodded. She brushed Tara aside and picked Willow up in her arms. Although they were of a similar size, Faith appeared not to be troubled by the weight. It was all Tara could do to follow after her as she moved back up into the house proper, continuing up the stairs to the first floor.

Tara felt strange entering Willow's personal sanctuary for the first time in over quarter of a century but she tried not to let it show. It was not difficult; there was very little expression she could show on her face other than exhaustion. Her gaze ran discreetly over the furnishings which were all simple for the most part save for the elaborate mirror which Tara recalled all too well. She was surprised Willow kept the thing in her room, Tara shivered just to look at it.

As Faith settled Willow back against the covers, Tara crossed to assist her. Together they removed Willow's soaking wet coat, breastplate and boots. Faith cast a daggered look that made her step back and leave the removal of Willow's trousers to her. Tara looked aside so as not to be forced to watch Faith's hands sliding down Willow's legs. As she did, she could not help but notice the small framed portrait of herself that sat on the bedside table. She hardly recognised that young girl. It was a portrait of somebody else, from another time.

"It's a wonder Willow can stand to keep that close."

Tara wrenched her gaze away from the portrait and met Faith's hard-edged stare. The brunette was obviously unapologetic in her loathing.

"I-I do not know," Tara replied. She paused and tried to prevent the wretched stammer from creeping back into her voice. "Perhaps you should ask Willow."

"Her business is her own," Faith muttered with a shrug.

_And yet you mentioning it at all would stand to reason otherwise,_ Tara thought bitterly. Her shoulders slumped wearily and she could hardly keep her chin aloft as she stood at Willow's beside. She honestly wanted nothing more than to fold herself onto the bed next to Willow.

"You know, you're more than welcome to stay the night as well," Faith announced grudgingly as she noticed the vampire swaying slightly.

Tara glanced up. She was genuinely surprised by the invitation even though she did not sense the brunette's voice to be welcoming at all. After another glance at Willow she decided that no harm could come of it while she slept and she inclined her head slightly in acceptance.

"If you don't mind…" Tara paused and swallowed awkwardly, she hardly even dared to think about the possibility that she could be near Willow for any length of time. "I think I'll stay at Willow's side for a little while."

"I do mind," Faith replied testily, but her expression softened as soon as she recognised the desperately hopeful look in Tara's eyes. Her next admission was grudging at best. "Although I suppose it cannot hurt."

"Thank you," Tara whispered gratefully.

Faith hovered protectively over the bed for another minute before the tense air between her and Tara grew a little too intense. With a curt nod in the vampire's direction, she took her leave.

On her way out of the room, Faith paused at the threshold. She turned back towards Tara and the vampire glanced up as she sensed that she was being watched. "Can I ask you a question?" Faith asked quietly.

"Of course," Tara raised her eyebrows slightly in surprise, she was curious to know what Faith could possibly want from her.

"You've known Lara for a long time," Faith began.

"Since she was a girl, but a quarter of a century is hardly a long time when you consider all the years I have walked this earth," Tara explained, she could not help but wonder what motive lay behind Faith's question.

"I'm not interested in your life history," Faith interrupted rudely. "I just want to know if you've ever had sex with her!"

Tara's eyes fluttered wide open at the unexpected question, "With Lara? No!" she spluttered vehemently. She breathed deeply several times and when she continued her voice had returned to its usual calm monotone, "Most definitely not, Faith. I think of Lara as a sister…that is how it has always been between us. Is there anything more I can say to convince you that I am telling the truth?"

"No," Faith replied, embarrassed to have even asked the question. She nodded once more and moved out of the room.

Tara watched as Faith left, before leaving her alone with Willow, she pointedly drew the door only half way closed. Despite her acceptance of Tara's promise that she had not slept with Lara, Faith was still not about to trust her. She half expected that the brunette would set up camp just outside the door but moments later she heard her footsteps sounding down the hall as Faith moved towards her own room.

With Faith gone, Tara selected a bottle of tincture of iodine from the medical kit Faith had left on the table and doused a ball of cotton wool in the foul smelling liquid. When she gently touched the soft wool to the cut at Willow's head, the redhead jumped slightly and murmured a word that might have been 'ouch.' Tara continued cleaning the wound and was pleased to find that it was not deep enough to require stitches. Willow would however have a rather large, ugly bump on her head for at least a week.

At some point during her ministrations Willow's eyes had fluttered open. Tara froze, her hand poised above Willow's forehead in the act of cleaning her wound. However, as she stared into the watery green pools, she saw the fog that clouded Willow's gaze and realised that she was only semi-conscious. Still, there was recognition in Willow's eyes, they widened slightly and her mouth worked as though she were trying to say something.

"Is there no end to your foolishness?" Tara whispered as she set aside the iodine and bloody piece of cotton. "Despite what you may think, you are no match for him." Willow's face immediately contorted as though she wished to vehemently disagree with Tara's observation. However the only sound that emerged from her mouth was an angry grunt. Tara then pressed her finger gently to Willow's lips to quiet her and had to suppress a slight shiver at the feel of the silken skin beneath her touch. "You needn't try and talk now, dearest. I will be here when you wake."

A small smile curled the corners of those silken lips and Willow allowed her exhaustion to take hold. Her eyelids slid closed once again and Tara watched her carefully until the soft rhythms of her breathing indicated that she was peacefully asleep.

Although Tara regretted breaking her whispered promise to Willow, she knew she could not stay at Gordon Square. Willow would be in no condition for a confrontation when she woke…and Tara had very little energy and absolutely no desire for one herself. Before she left Willow's side, she gave into temptation and deposited a gentle kiss on Willow's forehead. Even such a small act was difficult and she had to wrench herself away from the contact.

When she returned to the night, she felt as though something was different. It did not take any thought on her part to know exactly what it was. She was no longer a hunter in this environment.

Tara was the hunted.

For a moment she wished she had the courage to return to Gordon Square and face Willow's judgement when she woke but Tara acknowledged that this was an option she could not choose, not yet. Tara steeled herself. She did have choices…and one of them was not to bow down to her former master. She refused to skulk in the shadows for anyone, least of all Dracula. He could send as many assassins after her as he liked…and she would send each one back to him as a little box of dust!


	36. Portrait of a Lady

**Chapter Thirty-Six  
Portrait of a Lady**

As she awoke with her mind still fogged with sleep, Willow's immediate instinct was to bolt upright and scan her surroundings for any sign of danger. She found herself in the middle of her bed at Gordon Square. The royal blue covers were tucked securely around her legs and there was no sign of another soul, friend or foe, in the room. Despite the coast being clear, she felt as though there were piercing eyes watching and hunting her even in the supposed safety of her own home. Willow's next instinct was to find the sturdiest piece of furniture and crawl beneath it. However as she peeled back the covers and prepared to make a swift exit from the bed, the fog addling her brain finally lifted and she was able to experience a full spectrum of pain as her brain thumped against the inside of her skull. With a weak cry she stopped moving, remaining upright only long enough to acknowledge that she had to lie down once more. Gingerly she brought her aching head to rest on the pillows beneath her, trying to bury her head in their feathers as though that would put an end to the pounding.

She heard the door creak open but she could not muster the strength to fight or flee and continued to submerge her pain in the pillow. Willow heard someone crossing the room, approaching the bed and then there was the dull clunk of something being set down on the small table beside her bed. The smell of food reached her nostrils and immediately her stomach heaved in protest at the possibility of ingesting being forced to ingest food. A few moments later she was able to recognise cabbage soup and fresh bread. The aroma of even such simple fare seemed pungently unbearable.

"I know you're awake, Willow." It was Faith's reassuringly abrupt tone.

"Faith?" Willow tried to lift her head from the pillow. The second time around was no easier, she managed to push herself over onto her back so she could at least look at her friend. A tiny shaft of light sneaking through the otherwise closed curtains did not improve her headache. "Oh heck, I feel as though someone rammed my head repeatedly into a stone wall."

"That's because someone did ram your head into a stone wall," Faith answered in a matter-of-fact tone. "It didn't make you any prettier."

Willow could not even manage a smile in response to Faith's gentle jibe; instead she re-closed her eyes and tried to remember the events that had put her in bed with a head that felt as though it had been used for a football. When she lifted her hand to her head, she found it wrapped in a soft bandage. Even through the padding, her head felt extremely tender to the touch.

"I remember fighting Dracula," Willow whispered as her fingers lingered over the bandage. "As much as I do not want to admit it, I think he had the upper hand."

She remembered their duel in the rain soaked cemetery, the feeling of exhilaration as she clashed blades with the Lord of Vampires…and then she remembered the rage that had flowed through her veins as he taunted her mercilessly. A rage that had undoubtedly led to her defeat as her careful control gave way to desperation.

Willow let out a ragged sigh as she opened her eyes once more. "I let him bait me with his nonsensical words. Faith, I am truly an imbecile."

"I will not disagree with you there," Faith replied pointedly, she turned and reached for the soup that was sending tantalising tendrils of steam into the air. "You've slept for almost twelve hours. I was beginning to worry you wouldn't wake up until I heard you moaning away in your sleep."

"What did I say?" Willow asked as she eyed the soup warily as Faith balanced it on her lap.

"Nothing that should be repeated in polite company," Faith winked, as Willow prodded for further information with a demanding glance she continued. "Something about making love on the stairs. You were rather vocal."

"Oh," Willow muttered, her face flushing a gorgeous scarlet. As she struggled to overcome her embarrassment, she heard the clink of the spoon against the bowl as Faith scooped a spoonful of the cabbage soup. Her stomach heaved just at the sound. "Please, I honestly can't stomach the thought of eating that."

Faith glanced down at the soup. "There's nothing wrong with it. I was raised on cabbage soup and it's perfectly edible."

"No, not the soup…any food!" as soon as she gasped the words out, Willow retched painfully, her stomach was already empty so nothing emerged. However Faith very wisely took the hint and set the bowl back down with a shrug. "Sorry," Willow whispered. "Do you know what happened…I should be waking up in a torture chamber somewhere, not safe in my own bed."

The last thing she remembered was lying in the mud with Dracula's hands grasping at her clothing, then she supposed Dracula had rammed her into the aforementioned tombstone….and then there was only darkness. Given that she had set out alone without informing anyone, it seemed impossible that the evening could turn out as it had with no cavalry coming to her rescue. Willow searched Faith's expression for any hint of rebuke but she found nothing save concern and more than a hint of exhaustion about her eyes.

"The vampire saved your life," Faith admitted a little reluctantly.

Willow's eyes opened wide and she tried to rise from her pillows once again, a multitude of almost incomprehensible questions burst forth from her lips all at once. "Tara? How? Where is she? Is she still here? Faith, can I see her?"

Even as Willow began to sway in her semi-upright position, Faith reached out and clamped a hand firmly on each shoulder. "Calm down, Will, you'll do yourself further damage if you work yourself into a state."

It took some effort for Willow to force herself to look at Faith as opposed to the door in the faint hope that she would see Tara standing there, a small smile on her face. She drew in a deep breath and allowed Faith to place an additional pillow at her back before she lay down, now propped up at a better angle. Her head still pounded but the pain had lessened somewhat and the soup was almost making her mouth water.

"I can't remember anything after falling to the ground at Dracula's feet…I don't remember Tara being there at all…or bringing me here," Willow admitted, desperately trying to dredge up an image of Tara hovering above her with her lips slightly parted in concern and tears misting in her eyes.

"She used some sort of spell, I was alone in the training room and in the next instant I was almost flattened by the two of you appearing out of nowhere, soaking wet and you all bloodied. Although how she swiped you out from beneath Dracula's nose I cannot say. That will be a question you will have to ask of her," Faith explained gently. "I left her alone in the room with you last night…but when I checked an hour later she was gone."

"She stayed with me?" Willow whispered, closing her eyes. The image of Tara hovering over her sleeping form came easily into her mind and she smiled as broadly as her headache would allow her.

"Against my better judgement," Faith growled, annoyed at what she perceived as an insipid expression on Willow's face. "Although she didn't slay you in your sleep so I suppose my concerns were unfounded."

Willow's pleasant imaginings did not last long. She thought of Tara leaving Gordon Square and wondered at her reasons for going. Other speculations came into her mind, darker suspicions that she could not give voice to…and an element of doubt as to the blonde vampire's intentions. Tara had betrayed her once before. Willow could not rule out the possibility that her 'rescue' was merely another ply on Tara's part as she was still in league with Dracula. Still, the alternative also came to mind. Tara had defied Dracula to swipe her out from beneath his nose and her life was in danger because of it. It was almost too much for Willow's mind to process.

She opened her eyes. "Did she tell you where she was going?"

"I'm sorry she didn't," Faith replied, the crestfallen expression on Willow's face was more than enough to make her regret behaving so coldly to Tara that previous evening. She retrieved the soup bowl. "Eat something…regain your strength, and I promise we'll find Tara…regardless of her plans."

Willow nodded in agreement, Faith knew her too well. She refused to be spoon-fed and swiped the bowl and spoon from Faith's careful grasp.

Faith may have been raised on cabbage soup but she most definitely could not make it herself. The soup was awful but a determined Willow ate every, single drop.

As Willow ate she accepted the fact that Faith was right. Regardless of Tara's plans, she had to be found.

* * *

Tara watched as the last of the suns rays disappeared below the horizon. Soon the city would be shrouded in darkness and they would come for her. She did not know how many he would send, whether they would be instructed to destroy her or drag her back to him in chains but she did know that they would come.

When she eventually stood alone in the completely dark city, Tara did not seek the sanctuary of the shadows. Instead she continued walking down the middle of the street in a bold challenge to those demons who would seek to confront her.

When they came, five came as one. They were a wave of vampires that surged from the shadows around her in every direction. Tara did not run, she knew that to do so once would mean she would be running always. The vampires tried to strike as one but Tara rose up out of their reaching grasp, as she did her body transformed into the dark mist of her other form. When she descended she engulfed one of the vampires below her, swirling about him and blinding him. The vampire was not as old as Tara, he screamed an awful sound as his arms flailed about his head in a vain attempt to wave away the oppressive force that assaulted him. Tara moved to encircle another of the vampires, throwing the small group into confusion. When Tara's body solidified once again she was standing in front of a female vampire with closely cropped blonde hair. If the female was surprised to find her own sword in Tara's hand, the expression did not have time to register on her face. A split second after Tara had formed with her feet solidly on the ground she brought the slender sword around in a savage swing. The vampire's head fell from her shoulders and hit the ground; it rolled and came to rest in the centre of the remaining four vampires. Tara stood facing them with her bloodied sword, daring the next to come at her.

"You cannot run from our Master forever!" the nearest growled, he stabbed a trembling finger in Tara's direction.

"I am not running," Tara replied calmly, extending the point of her sword towards the quartet of vampires. "It is not my back but my face that you see and the sword in my hand. Leave me be or you will taste the same dusty fate as your companion."

What happened next definitely cleared up any doubt as to Dracula's orders regarding Tara. None of the vampires heeded her warning; all four surged forward with their own weapons drawn. The vampire who had challenged her wielded a sword of his own; he was clad in tight leathers that bared his whip-cord thin arms. Tara met his blade, her cloak swirling like liquid through the air as she moved. They danced across the cobbles and their blades clashed, a metallic clang ringing out with each strike. The fierce power behind her strokes forced him to the ground. Even as he fell a second female vampire took his place quickly, twin knives in her hands. Lined up on either side of her were a pair of burly male vampires whose matching haircuts and clothing made them appeared identical. Both obviously preferred their fists.

The knife-wielding vampire came at Tara with the knives whirling in her skilled fingers. Tara caught one hand in the fold of her cloak, the vampire's wrist tangled and the blade was trapped, usable. However the loss of one blade did not distract her and she brought the other whipping around to slice through Tara's sleeve.

Tara did not flinch as she felt the razor sharp metal nip at her flesh. She twisted around completely, her opponents arm was still caught in her cloak. It meant that she was unable to strike again quickly. With a deft flick of her wrist, Tara reversed her blade and drove it backwards. Her blade plunged through the soft flesh of the vampire's stomach until it was buried almost to the hilt. When she turned the trapped female was snarling with rage, lashing out wildly with her knife. Tara caught her wrist with her free hand and with a savage twist, broke the bone, the audible snap ringing out in the night air.

Crack! Tara was sent sprawling sideways as one of the burly vampires stepped between her and the screeching vampire skewered on her blade. She lost her grip and went stumbling backwards, hitting something solid. Before she could turn, her arms were pinned behind her back by the remaining vampire.

Even as she struggled violently, her assailant struck her a second time. His knuckles split the skin above her eye and Tara was barely able to suppress the cry that she wanted to make.

However, she recovered quickly and defiantly thrust her chin forward. She calmly met the gaze of the vampire in front of her with her piercing blue eyes challenging him to strike her again. However, just as she expected the next blow to smash into her face she saw him pause with a look of shock passing across his face. A second later Tara felt the firm grip restraining her disappear, dust swirled past her body. Instinctively she stepped to one side and was not surprised to see a crossbow bolt slam into the vampire who moments earlier had been mercilessly pummelling her with his fists. The look of surprise was still fixed on his face as his body exploded.

When Tara turned she saw a vision of power and death striding towards her. Clad in scarlet leather, with her dark hair swirling about her face and a spent crossbow held in her hand, Faith flicked a tiny smile in Tara's direction. She tossed the crossbow to the cobbles and with a wide flourish drew her silver sword.

There were now only two vampires remaining. The female one Tara had gutted earlier had drawn the sword from her own belly and was wielding it like an angry banshee. With a shriek she hurled herself towards Faith. Her efforts were greeted with a hoarse laugh from Faith who no doubt viewed the impending contest as terribly uneven.

Without a weapon, Tara was left to face the thin vampire she had brushed aside first. It was clear his pride had been damaged and he was eager to see her pay for it. With blood now trickling into her eyes, Tara stumbled backwards awkwardly as he came surging towards her.

Time almost stopped, Tara saw the vampire falling towards her with his blade drawn out behind him. In mere seconds he would bring it sweeping towards her neck. Tara stared at oblivion and found herself surprised to be welcoming it.

Faith's hoarse cry interrupted her vision of destruction. "Tara, catch!"

Tara whirled and plucked the stake the Faith tossed out of the air. She used the vampire's own momentum as he came at her and he drove himself forward onto the wood. The air was forced from her lungs as he came crashing down atop her and knocked her to the ground. A split second later however he exploded in a gritty shower of dust.

Clutching the stake to her chest, Tara tried to rise to her feet but she found her legs would not support her. With the dust from the vampire she had slain still swirling about her, Tara sank to her knees in the damp earth. As she struggled for breath, she realised that she had not eaten for days and her strength was almost exhausted. She was forced to face the fact that she would need to feed if she expected to be able to survive on the streets. The hunted needed their strength. Faith's footsteps sounded firmly on the cobbles behind her. She glanced over her shoulder but did not rise to her feet.

"Are you trying to wind up dusted or dead, or whatever the hell happens to a vampire with a bloody soul?" Faith demanded as she slid her bloody sword into its scabbard. She cocked her head to one side and narrowed her eyes with curiosity. "How can you be killed anyway?"

"In truth I do not know," was all Tara said in reply.

Faith realised her curiosity was hardly important and she waved it aside. She reached out her hand towards Tara. After staring at it for a moment, Tara clasped the offered hand and allowed Faith to draw her back to her feet. The two women continued to stare at one another before something broke inside Faith and she sighed.

"You left the safety of the house for this?" Faith asked, indicating the stake in Tara's hand and the dust of several vampires coating her cloak.

"I couldn't stay-" Tara began.

"You ran!" Faith accused her.

It was Tara's turn to narrow her eyes. "You hardly wanted me to stay."

"You should not care what I want. Willow wanted you to stay!" Faith fired back.

Tara paused and smiled sadly. "Willow only wants to confront me."

"So let her confront you…or are you a bloody coward?" Faith demanded.

"I would prefer not to set foot in that house again," was all Tara would say, refusing to be baited by Faith's angry demands.

Faith's fists were clenched at her sides; she was obviously contemplating whether she could force Tara to accompany her back to Gordon Square. She eventually realised that short of seizing Tara by the hair, there was no way the blonde vampire would agree to accompany her.

"If not to Gordon Square, then at least allow me to escort you to the museum. You would be even safer there," Faith suggested, there was no trace of reluctance in her voice as they had been the previous evening.

Tara looked steadily at Faith, she knew that acceptance of any such offer would require admitting to herself that she could no longer stubbornly stand apart and alone from those around her.

She also remembered the brief moment during which Willow gazed into her eyes and her heart fluttered as she dared to hope that the gaze was something other than that of a delirious woman. Finally, she allowed herself to make the curt nod that was the first step towards reconciliation.

* * *

Willow shifted in her bed in a vain effort to find some measure of comfort and warmth. However, no matter how soft the feathers in her pillow or mattress, or how many blankets her friends piled atop her body, she could not seem to reach either state.

Thankfully, the throbbing in her head had eased somewhat following food and a little sleep but she could not stomach the thought of remaining in bed for yet another day. Mindful that Faith could be waiting just beyond her door, ready to pounce if she tried to leave her room, Willow rose and tugged on a thick velvet robe over her woollen underwear.

Faith was not lying in wait just beyond her door, however as she crept downstairs she heard a great deal of noise emanating from the kitchen. The clash of pots and pans was accompanied by a series of foul epithets at regular intervals. Willow suspected that Faith was trying to concoct another batch of her cabbage soup…or something equally as unpalatable. Wanting to avoid a confrontation, Willow moved instead into the library and down the hidden passageway to the training room. Once she was within the room, with its familiar smells of sweat and polish, she felt somewhat at ease. Training of any sort was out of the question but Willow could still run her hands over each of the weapons, feel their strength at her fingertips and see if any needed attention. She was almost disappointed to find each blade sharp; no doubt Faith had kept Myles busy for many hours honing each blade to perfection.

She then crossed to the heavily laden bookshelves. Their leather spines were free of dust but they were packed in tightly, too neatly, as though they had not been disturbed in their slumber for some time. Willow continued to run her hands over their spines as though reassuring them that despite her newfound skills, she still cared for the written word as much as she ever had.

Willow paused with her hand on one particular volume. She let her fingers linger for a moment before she felt a chill run through her body. Moments after reading the title, she snatched her hand away and took a step backwards - _Most Horrid Magicks_. She continued to stare at the black, otherwise innocuous spine, its gilt lettering seeming to glimmer slightly in the light.

Part of Willow wanted to turn her back on the book run from the training room…it was the sensible part of her she knew she ought to listen to. However, Willow found herself subconsciously reaching towards the book once more and it was as though she were watching herself from afar. Her fingers closed once more on the spine, she felt chilled once more, clearly in anticipation of what lay beyond the hidden doorway.

With one savage tug, she dislodged _Most Horrid Magicks_ from its place between its neighbours. She then snatched her hand away, as though afraid of what she had just done. Indeed, she felt as though she had unleashed a savage beast.

At first nothing happened, the training room was silent save for her own urgent breathing. Almost a minute passed until Willow heard the sound of grinding bones and gears creaking in protest at being disturbed. A section of the bookcase jolted slightly, dislodging decade's worth of dust from hidden crevices and other places Myles had not cared to clean. Very slowly, the bookcase swung inward to expose a dark passageway. Willow was immediately assaulted by a bevy of aromas, all indistinguishable at first. However as she stood fixed in the doorway she realised that although it was made up of damp, rot, earth and stale air, the aroma was that of utter despair.

She had no desire to venture into that dark place but something compelled her inwards, a desire to know, to experience the hell that lay within. Willow tentatively planted one foot after the other. With each step she felt an increasing weight bear down on her slender shoulders.

It was dark. No light shone from within and little of the training room's light seemed to penetrate beyond an invisible line on the floor where the bookcase had stood. Willow paused for another moment to give her eyes the chance to adjust to the gloom. Gradually she made out the roughly hewn stone walls that surrounded her and the one place where they gave way to a door. The rusted iron bars had been left open. Drawing a deep breath, Willow stepped through the door and into Tara's cell.

The darkness within the cell was overwhelming, it hemmed her in from all sides and threatened to collapse in on her and seal her in the cell forever. A strangled cry escaped her throat as she was driven to her knees by the weight of the emotions sealed within the room. She remained there for several minutes, gasping for much needed air as she struggled to overcome her terror.

Willow did not succeed but as her breathing evened out and she was able to lift her chin up, she realised she never would. The stones within the cell held too much suffering to allow her to relax. Her eyes roamed over the long dried bloodstains on the floor and walls of the cell. She almost cried when she saw the desperate scratches in the stone, scratches made by mere fingernails.

She had been in the cell for the barest fraction of time compared to the years Tara spent imprisoned and yet already she marvelled that her former lover could have survived.

"Because you loved me," Willow whispered. As her own small voice filled the chamber she wondered what Tara had said during all those years she was alone in the dark, had she spoken at all? She remembered the vision Giles had shown her and the half-mad creature that had he and Jeremiah Croft had released from the cell.

With an immense effort, Willow pushed herself to her feet and stumbled towards the door of the cell. She felt as though her limbs were moving through quicksand and try as she might, she could move no faster. When she finally did break through into the training room she was coughing and gasping for air as though she had been drowning.

At the moment that Willow emerged from the passage way, Faith entered the training room. It had obviously been the brunette's intention to train but as she saw Willow stumbling out into the room in front of her, all thoughts of pummelling practice dummies was wiped instantly. She watched as Willow tottered on unsteady legs.

"Will?" Faith dashed quickly across the training room just in time to wrap her arms around Willow's waist and hold her firmly upright. She cast a quick glance in the direction Willow had come and saw nothing but darkness, leading to what she did not know. When she looked at Willow, she found that all colour had drained from the redhead's face, she was as white as the bandage wrapped around her head. "You're as white as a sheet! What the bloody heck were you doing down there?"

"I had to see for myself," Willow replied in fading but determined voice.

Faith frowned. "You had to see what?"

"I had to see what it was like for her. It was the only way I could think of to be close to her," Willow whispered in a broken voice. "I needed…"

"You need nothing but rest!" Faith interrupted in an angry voice, clearly disturbed by the manner in which Willow was acting. She saw the wild look in Willow's eyes and felt the tremors running through her body as she held her.

Willow however was not interested in Faith's concerns. "Faith, please!" she protested as she mustered the strongest voice she could manage. "Let me be. I'm just feeling a little faint tis all."

"And you will keel over and hit your head!" Faith growled in annoyance as Willow tried to shrug out of her grasp. "What are you even doing out of bed?"

When Willow tried to shrug out of her grip for the second time, Faith reluctantly released her but hovered close in case she appeared at all unsteady. However, Willow was no longer focused on remaining upright; she was staring back over her shoulder at the doorway from which she had just emerged. Faith followed her gaze and suppressed a shiver of her own at the sight of the dark passage. However well lit the training room was, no light filtered through the bookcase doorway. It was as though all the light had been swallowed.

"Will, what the devil is down there?" Faith asked quietly. The only immediate reply from her friend was a noticeable shiver. She started towards the passage to see for herself but Willow's hand shot out and grasped her own before she could move past her. "Will?"

"Sorrow lingers there," Willow whispered. Only when she was convinced that Faith would not try and enter the passage did she let go of her hand. "Faith, would you be so kind as to destroy the door mechanism and seal up the passage? I know it seems rather trivial when there are more pressing matters at hand."

"Nonsense," Faith replied quickly. "If that is what you want done."

"It is," Willow whispered with a decisive nod.

"Then Myles and I shall do it immediately," Faith reassured her with another brief touch on Willow's arm. "However, only if you promise to return to bed."

Willow nodded again in reply. She took one last look at the passage leading to Tara's cell before gratefully turning her back on it. The boarding up and sealing of the entrance would go some way to easing her ill feelings about the place but she knew she would not be able to rid herself of the memory of being within that space. As long as she lived at Gordon Square, she would be aware of the presence of the cell beneath the house.

As Faith watched Willow walk away she contemplated calling out to her, letting her know that she had been forced to save Tara's life just hours ago and that she was now in the Museum's basement. However, she remembered the blankness in Willow's eyes and now saw her slumped shoulders as she trudged towards the stairs. It could wait.

Oblivious to Faith's concerns, Willow made her way back to her room. She felt as though her skin was crawling with filth after being in the god-awful cell. While she wanted nothing more than a bath she did not want to summon Faith or Myles to have them draw one for her and she already knew that they would not allow her to tote her own buckets of hot water. She settled for dashing a liberal amount of water from the pitcher atop her dresser into its matching bowl and scrubbed at every inch of exposed skin. After her effort, she glanced in her mirror to find her face, neck and lower arms red raw. Still she felt filthy.

With her head pounding once again, Willow eased herself down onto her bed and closed her eyes. However, as soon as her vision descended into darkness, images of the cell came unbidden into her mind and along with them, an overwhelming sense of claustrophobia and oppression. Her eyes flew open as she found herself struggling for a breath with a thin sheen of sweat covering her brow as though she had been back in the cell. When she turned her head, searching for the light pouring in the window, her gaze was instead drawn to the portrait of Tara perched on her bedside table. The portrait's small smile seemed sad as though she understood all too well what Willow felt.

Without hesitation, Willow reached out and picked up the frame. She held it close; so close that Tara's face was the only image that filled her frame of view. The longer she stared at the beautiful lines that made up the likeness of the woman she had loved, the easier her breathing became.

A few minutes later she laid the portrait on her chest. When she closed her eyes again, she no longer saw the damp walls of the cell; instead she saw Tara's smiling face. Her grip tightened on the frame as though she could somehow summon the woman herself through just the contact with her likeness. Willow knew that the Tara that was in the drawing was long gone, that the person who walked the earth was as much a vampire as anything else…and yet she knew deep down in her heart that she wanted to be with Tara no matter what she had become. Her earlier thought that she may still be in league with Dracula was dismissed as being nothing but unfounded suspicion. Tara's soul was in Tara's body…therefore the sombre, dark-cloaked woman that haunted her steps, was Tara.

As she gripped the frame tightly in her fingers, the backing suddenly slipped away. Willow glanced down to see that her fierce grip had broken the frame. With a sigh she picked up the two pieces. As she did something white fluttered out from between them and came to rest on her stomach. She immediately clutched at it and drew herself into a sitting position. When she stared down into her hand she found paper which had been tightly folded into a small square.

With trembling fingers Willow quickly unfolded the paper. Her heart missed a few beats when she saw one side was covered in a neat, upright script. Even before she stared reading, Willow recognised the handwriting as belonging to her brother.

_Dearest sister, _

_I write this knowing that you have been give the second chance you deserve even though it pains me to know that you will find out what I did and think ill of me because of it. Please know that everything I did was for you…including placing the skull you died for somewhere safe, where it will always be with you._

_Abraham_

Willow stared at the small scrap of paper as though expecting the short message to change and reveal something that was actually useful. It was the only clue she had that even hinted at the whereabouts of the skull but the longer she stared at it, the more unhelpful the message became. Having her brother admit that everything he did was solely for her, including torturing Tara, did not improve her mood.

"You knew full well I would never have condoned what you did to her, demon or not," Willow whispered, her voice sounding lonely in the empty room. "I was ready to let her go, you should have been too. Now look at the mess you've made."

Although she felt like tearing the message into shreds out of sheer frustration, Willow instead folded it into a tight square and jammed it in her pocket. She gazed out at the world beyond her window and knew that somehow she had to escape Faith, who was no doubt watching her like a hawk, and make her way to the Museum to see Giles. If anyone could possibly shed light on her brother's cryptic message it would be the centuries-old warlock.


	37. Inner Demons

**Chapter Thirty-Seven  
Inner Demons**

Rupert Giles felt every year of his considerable age as he slipped into the worn armchair tucked into one corner of his workroom. Once his weary bones were settled he unfolded the scrap of paper that had been nestled in his clenched first and recalled the scene just an hour ago when a confused but hopeful Willow had presented him with her discovery.

There was no need for him to confirm that the note was indeed written in the hand of Abraham Van Helsing, Willow knew her own brother's writing as well as he. He could however confirm truthfully that he had never seen such a note before…however he was somewhat ashamed to acknowledge that was where the truth stopped and the concealment began. The note gave him more than an inkling of where the skull could be and yet without confirmation, it was not something he could share with the young woman…not yet. He had sent Willow home again with a few firm reassurances that he would conduct further 'research' and divulge his findings as soon as possible. Willow had left with a worried but confident expression on her face that almost caused him to confess then and there, it took the old warlock an immense amount of effort to let her go. As soon as she disappeared out the door, he was racked by a guilty conscience.

When Myles had shown up some minutes later to see if there was anything he needed help with, Giles had immediately sent him to fetch Tara…the one living being who would have seen the skull's location.

Giles remained slumped in the arm chair with his chin resting on his fist. He did not move until several minutes later when he heard the door to his workshop open, followed by barely audible footsteps. He looked up and met Tara's piercing blue gaze.

The vampire looked strangely different until he realised that she was not wearing the black, woollen cloak that seemed to move as though it were a part of her. She stood before him wearing an unadorned black shirt with a high collar that nestled beneath her jaw, tucked neatly into a plain black woollen skirt that reached the floor. The lack of a cloak also left her white blonde hair bare, and she had tied it in a loose bun that sat at the nape of her neck. Despite her pallor and unnaturally bright eyes, she looked like a young widow.

Without speaking, he extended the note towards her. She crossed the distance between them and accepted it wordlessly. As she read it, her lips slowly parted in shock. When she lifted her head a few moments later her brow was furrowed with concern.

"Did Willow find this?" she asked quietly.

Giles nodded once. "Tucked into the back of a portrait she keeps at her bedside."

"My portrait," Tara whispered in an odd voice. Although she spoke the truth plain enough, it seemed strange now to claim to be the carefree young girl in the drawing. She lowered her gaze and read the note through once more, as though thinking the words might have changed since she read it last. When she looked backed to Giles, her confusion had not lessened and her concern registered clearly in her voice as a slight tremor. "How much have you discussed with Willow?"

She thought she saw a flicker of discomfort pass across Giles's features. However when he paused overly long before replying, she realised he was indeed uncomfortable.

"I must confess that although my speculations ran wild upon reading the note, I have discussed nothing of any substance with Willow," Giles admitted. "I merely promised her that I would do my best to uncover the mystery through research and speaking to several unnamed sources. This was stretching the truth to say the least. I have but one source and she is standing in front of me now."

Tara lifted her eyebrows in surprise for a moment but she quickly composed herself and waved the note at Giles. "Before we ascertain whether or not I can shed any light on the skull's whereabouts, did you not immediately have doubts as to the authenticity of this note?"

Giles bristled as though offended but stopped short of an indignant retort. "Of course I did," he noted quietly.

"Then you would have asked yourself whether Abraham truly wrote this note. I cannot vouch for his penmanship but I can say with certainty that he died not knowing we would bring his sister back from the dead!" Tara stated emphatically, the note now crumpled slightly in her fierce grip.

"That thought vexes me greatly," Giles agreed, drumming his fingers on the arms of his chair. "But my instincts tell me that Abraham Van Helsing wrote that note, whether he ever intended Willow to actually find it or not."

Tara's previously wide-eyed gaze was now narrowed with suspicion, indicating she was far from convinced. However she grudgingly allowed Giles his reasoning. "And you believe you know where it is?"

Giles rose smoothly to his feet and felt the need to smooth out the wrinkles in his waistcoat before replying. "The only conclusion that I can reach is that Abraham buried the skull with his sister. It makes perfect sense, she died for that skull, he would see her coffin as its rightful home."

"It makes no sense!" Tara interrupted in a frustrated hiss, whirling away from Giles and slapping her palm down hard on a table in front of her, the contents of several specimen jars shook with the force of the impact. "Damn you to hell, Abraham Van Helsing!"

Giles barely paused before continuing in a decisive tone, "And yet you and I know that there is nothing in Willow's coffin. There are no bones, nothing, and certainly not two skulls. It is why I did not initially give voice such a thought in front of Willow. It is not the sort of speculation that she ought to hear in her state."

It was only when Giles finished that he noticed Tara to be swaying slightly on her feet, with her lips trembling noticeably. If it were possible, she was an even paler shade of pale than she had been a minute ago. Her entire body slumped against the workbench that lay in front of her.

"Tara?" he asked with a slight frown at her strange reaction. "Is something wrong?"

Tara's head jerked upwards before she replied. "Abraham would not have left the skull in the coffin. It is much too obvious."

"It is too obvious," Giles began slowly, still concerned at Tara's reaction. "Which is precisely why Abraham may have chosen it. You know as well as I that the protections I placed on that grave were significant. They have only been disturbed but once in that time…and that was by you."

"Oh god," she whispered, pressing both hands to her temples as though she suddenly had a splitting headache.

"Tara?" Giles asked firmly, as though he were a father demanding answers from a wayward child. He crossed the short distance between them and took one of her wrists in an iron like grip to force her to remain aware of his presence.

Tara wrenched her wrist free but met his gaze, in a very quiet voice she admitted, "The skull may very well have been in her coffin."

"What the bloody hell does that mean, demon?" Giles demanded, reverting to his old way of addressing Tara from a time when the relationship between them had been less than amicable.

Although the tone of his voice unnerved her, Tara did not shrink away. She angrily threw the crumpled up note in his face.

"I said it plainly enough!" Tara snapped, clearly angry at herself as opposed to Giles. Just looking at him now, she remembered the spite in his voice as he ordered her to dig up Willow's bones. He knew full well that such an act would cause her immense pain…and he had been right. The thought of seeing Willow as nothing more than a decaying pile of flesh and bones wrapped in mouldy, damp fabric would have broken her had she actually looked inside the coffin.

Giles stared at her in silence for almost a minute before it dawned on him what she had done. His lips parted in horror and shock at the realisation. "I remember exactly what you said that night. You spoke of her bones…and the suffering it caused you to have to see them. I remember because of the perverse satisfaction I took from your suffering."

Tara turned her back on Giles, and lowered her elbows to the workbench so she could hold her head in her hands.

"I lied," she whispered, her anger giving way to shame. "I barely opened the coffin…and certainly not far enough to see Willow's body. I used a spell to grind the bones to dust and funnel them into the jar. When I say that the skull may very well have been in her coffin I speak the plain truth. It may have been in there, and as such it would have been ground to dust along with her mortal bones."

"The skull cannot be destroyed…" Giles began in a desperate voice, although he realised his error before he finished the sentence.

"The bones were not destroyed!" Tara gave voice to Giles's thoughts, her shoulders sagged further, "Giles, if the skull was in her coffin..."

"We do not even know for sure that it was." Giles retrieved the note from the dust covered floor, he unfolded it from its crumpled state and read it again, hoping fiercely that he would be able to find another way to interpret Abraham's words.

"If the skull was in her coffin!" Tara repeated stubbornly, her voice muffled as she continued to hold her head in her hands, now digging her fingertips into her flesh.

Giles looked up from the note. Instead of seeing Tara standing in front of him he saw Willow handing him the note, the clue she had found. She appeared to have every expectation that it would lead them to the skull…and he had promised her that it would help immensely. The skull was the one thing they needed…and for all this time it had been hidden in plain sight, right in front of him, Willow.

"Then it would be a part of her," he finished lamely. "The skull is a part of Willow."

There was a sudden crash behind them, from near the door to the workshop. Giles spun on his heels and Tara lifted her head just in time to see one of Giles's gadgets hit the floor and smash into a dozen pieces. They both saw a flash of red hair a split second before its owner disappeared out the door.

"Good lord," Giles exclaimed quietly as he ran his hands through his thinning hair. "How much do you think she overheard?"

"More than enough," Tara whispered, pressing a trembling hand to her forehead. She felt like vomiting.

Giles rose swiftly to his feet and crossed to his coat hanging by the door. However before he could tug it on, Tara reached out and grasped his elbow to stop him.

"Please Giles, this is something I must do," she said earnestly.

He gave her a long, steady look. His gaze spoke of caution and concern. "Tara."

Tara was ready with an answer to his unspoken question. "I don't know if I'm ready to confront her, Giles but I do know that I am more than ready to confess I never stopping loving her."

With that she drew a deep breath and followed Willow out of the door. Giles watched her go with a troubled countenance. He knew this latest revelation was more than capable of pushing Willow over the edge and if she fell, she would take Tara down with her.

* * *

Willow landed hard on the cobbles as she leapt down the steps of the British Museum and out onto Great Russell Street. Several pedestrians had to urgently scramble out of her way as she ran straight through the middle of the crowded thoroughfare. She ignored the verbal protests and outraged expressions as she continued running, shouldering aside anyone who happened to be in her way. She was almost hit by a carriage crossing the street but she ignored the foul curses of the driver and his startled horses. The only thought in her mind was reaching Gordon Square and the safety of her own home.

As she ran, Willow cursed herself for having gone back to Giles's office. He'd told her to go home and that had been her intention until another thought had popped into her mind. Quite innocently, she'd decided to raise it with him before she left. She had been more than surprised to see Tara talking to Giles. However her surprise had quickly morphed into something else altogether when she saw the way Tara was slumped over a table, and the expression on Giles's face. Then their words had hit her, they had hit her like a ton of bricks and sent her reeling.

_If the skull was in her coffin…then it would be a part of her…the skull is a part of Willow._

Willow's first instinct had been to lash out. She'd spied a mechanical gadget close at hand and violently dashed it to the ground before sprinting out of the office as fast as possible.

She continued sprinting, her legs continuing to pump long after exhaustion set in and her head began to throb painfully. Not until she bounded up the steps and slammed the door shut on her home did she slow…and even then she did not stop moving. Taking the stairs two at a time she made her way to her bedroom and slammed that door shut as well, as though the simple wooden barrier would be impassable to those who sought to find her.

Once inside Willow was at a loss as to what to do. She paced the floor towards the bed and back, running her hands through her stringy, unwashed hair. Willow wanted to scream out loud in frustration but she could not bring herself to vent her emotions in such a manner. Out of the corner of her eye she saw her own pacing form reflected in the silver framed mirror. As though suddenly gripped with an urgency of a different sort, she moved up close until her nose was almost pressed against the glass. She placed her hands to her face and prodded and probed the flesh stretched across her skull as though her explorations would reveal the innate evil that lay beneath her skin. Without thinking, Willow dug her nails fiercely into her skin and ignored the pain.

In front of her eyes, the reflected Willow took on a manic gleam in her green eyes. Her fingernails continued to delve into the skin of her face until slowly but surely she broke through the skin. Then clawing and tearing in a frenzy she stripped away the bloody flesh of her face until staring back at her was a grotesquely blackened skull. Willow heard a scream tear from her throat, it sounded hollow and miles away. She lifted a bloody fist to pound against the glass of the mirror. As soon as her fist struck the mirror's surface, her own reflection was back and the blood was gone from her hands.

A sob tore from her throat as she stumbled away from the mirror. However terrified she was, she could not look away from her reflection.

She was still staring at it a few minutes later when a shape moved in the room behind her. Willow held her breath as her own ashen face was joined by a second, even paler face just behind her shoulder. Recognition eventually brought with it a calming influence and the initial shock subsided. The chills remained however, as the air in the room itself suddenly felt cooler.

"If I turn around…will you be there?" Willow whispered to the reflection, she lifted a shaking hand and pressed her fingertips to the mirror as though touching the face.

"Why would I not be here?" the reflection asked in return.

"Because I do not know what I want," Willow found herself unable to raise her voice above a whisper. In the mirror, she saw the woman move a few steps closer and she shivered as she heard the ever so slight creaking of floorboards that accompanied the movement. "One half of me does not want you to be here…but the remaining half would be heartbroken if you were just another figment of my tortured mind."

"Then I fear that one half of you will be grievously upset," Tara answered.

The floorboards creaked once more and Tara's reflection drew even closer. Willow found herself taking an involuntary step backwards, further from the mirror and closer to Tara. In the mirror she saw Tara lift her hand, stretching it out towards her.

Willow almost leapt out of her skin as she felt the hand close on her shoulder. Before Tara's fingers could settle there, she sidestepped free of her touch and spun to face her. After all the times when the mirror had lied and given her a false reflection, it was an immense shock to realise that Tara was physically in the room, standing in front of her. On trembling legs Willow circled the vampire warily. She did not move further away from the vampire, but she did give herself a clear path to the door.

"What would you have me do, Willow?" Tara asked sadly as she saw Willow glance over her shoulder in order to confirm her escape route.

"Leave," Willow whispered hoarsely.

"You want me to leave…and yet you want me to stay?" Tara ducked her head with a sigh. "I cannot do both."

"Goddammit Tara, I want you to do both!" Willow was finally able to manage more than a whisper. She stamped her foot like a child, angry that Tara could not bring herself to continue looking her in the eye, "I want you to leave because I am terrified I will act out my dreams and kill you…and I want you to stay because I need you." Willow had to pause and swallow awkwardly, when she continued her voice was again reduced to a mere whisper. "I fear if we remain apart any longer then I will die."

Tara's shoulders slumped and for a split second she almost fell towards Willow._ I cannot not fall apart, not now…not with so much at stake._ It took an immense effort for her to reign in her emotions. After a moment she was able to lift her chin, when she finally did speak her voice was cold and to the point, "You cannot die from a broken heart, Willow."

Willow bristled; again angry, this time at the fact that Tara would seek to brusquely dismiss what she felt. She squared her own shoulders. "Do not spout those falsely placating sentiments in my presence!" she almost yelled as she stabbed a shaking finger in the vampire's direction. "You cannot deny that a broken heart drove each of us to our deaths!"

The air between them was heavy with emotion and beneath its weight Tara sagged. It was too much and her fragile composure wavered. She had to duck her head again as Willow's accusing gaze stung painfully. "You have a second chance at life, I am still dead."

When Willow moved forward without warning, Tara lifted her gaze in surprise. Willow crossed the already short distance between the two of them and firmly laid her hand on Tara's chest. She clearly felt Tara's heart thumping firmly beneath the palm of her hand.

Even though the fabric of her dress kept her skin separate from Willow's, Tara's entire body jolted at the sudden, intimate contact.

Willow's gaze was challenging and her question direct. "Do beating hearts reside in the chests of the dead, Tara?"

Tara opened her mouth to speak. Although it was her intention to offer Willow a decisive reply, all that emerged was a strangled gasp. A myriad of words invaded her mind, all seemingly valid responses to Willow's question and intended to leave her in no doubt as to what her former lover had become. Whatever the attributes of the curse Abraham Van Helsing had bestowed upon her - her soul, a beating heart which kept blood pumping through her veins - she was still a vampire. There was nothing she could do that would change her state of being. She knew she was condemned to spend the remainder of her existence as a mutilated creature, not fully human, not fully vampire…and accepted by neither.

However despite all of those well-reasoned thoughts, despite everything she had previously convinced herself, it was all rendered meaningless standing as close as she was to Willow, with Willow's hand resting on her chest. With the chaos in her mind threatening to tear her apart, Willow's presence was the only point of solidity she could cling to.

There was only one coherent though running through her mind, _If I tried to kiss her, would she pull away in revulsion? Or would it be exactly as it used to be? _"Will…"

Before she could finish even finish Willow's name, Tara was unexpectedly cut off. In her surprise, it took her several seconds to realise what had happened. Gradually she began to digest the sensations that were coursing through her body, starting at her lips.

Willow was kissing her.

Tara froze, with Willow's lips pressed to her own she found herself incapable of moving either away or towards Willow. She stood awkwardly, adjusting to the warmth radiating throughout her body just from the one small, but significant point of contact between them.

Willow paused with the pretence of giving the blonde a moment to adjust to what she had just done when in fact she was trying to come to terms with it herself. She felt Tara's rigid body relax almost to the extreme point of falling over. Before she could do anything of the sort, Willow firmly wrapped both arms around Tara's body and eliminated the last of the space between them as she crushed their bodies together. Insistently she moved her lips against Tara's, small movements at first until the blonde's lips parted with a whimper.

What had began as the hesitant and awkward kiss of two people kissing for the first time, quickly became the passionate merging of lips of two lovers who knew each other intimately. All reservations were swept aside as Willow and Tara desperately strove to make up for decades of lost time with just one kiss. When their tongues met in a violent caress both women unleashed guttural moans of pent up longing.

Willow shifted one hand from the small of Tara's back to clasp her neck tightly as though she feared Tara would try and break away from the kiss. When Tara did exactly the same thing a moment later, Willow realised that they both wanted and needed the contact as much as the other. The roaring need in her mind had now reached a crescendo, she could hear nothing outside of their urgent gasps for breath and drawn out moans. When she felt the room spin around her she thought it was all in her mind, but when her back slammed against something hard she realised Tara had spun her around and forced her backwards. She felt a chill creep beneath the clothing at her back and knew that Tara had thrown her back against the mirror. A part of her was troubled by this, knowing that she and the mirror did not have the best relationship at times…but the larger part of her could not care less, she only wanted Tara's hands on her skin.

With their lips still locked together, Tara grasped the front of Willow's shirt and with one savage tug she tore it apart, sending buttons flying unheeded in all directions. She felt the maddening fabric of Willow's undershirt still barring her path to the creamy skin she desired and she had to break their kiss and put both hands to the wool in order to tear it apart. As soon as the fabric parted Tara sought out Willow's chest and she inhaled the intoxicating aroma of her skin greedily. She felt Willow pump her hips forward insistently and took her blatant desire as a cue to fumble for the buttons of her pants. Tara desperately sought out the heat between Willow's legs even as she was dimly aware of moisture between her own.

"I need…" Willow whispered breathlessly, trying to stifle another moan as she spoke. "I need your fingers inside me."

Tara felt an icy chill run down her spine and she drew away immediately despite the moans of encouragement coming from Willow's throat. At that moment Tara had realised that everything about what was happening was a re-enactment of what had happened between the two of them in that dark alley so many decades ago.

"_I don't care if you're lying…" Willow whispered, completely losing herself to Tara's knowing hands. "But if you're going to turn me, can you please fuck me first?" _

"_I knew you were hungry for me from the moment I drew back my hood…the need was obvious," Tara drawled, dragging teasing fingers across Willow's inner thighs._

_A small whimper escaped from Willow's throat as Tara fingers travelled everywhere except where she needed them most. Her hips jerked forward repeatedly of their own accord, thrusting in search of much needed friction. _

"_I need…" Willow's sentence was cut short as she suddenly cried out with a throaty gasp, one of Tara's fingers worked its way between her folds and grazed the engorged nub within. "Oh gods…please. I need your fingers inside me…now!"_

Her soulless self had taken Willow urgently, with the intention of securing her trust, only to betray her days later. Although it had effectively been someone else in that alley, she clearly remembered the things she had said and done. Her cheeks burned with shame.

Willow's eyes were open and she was staring at Tara in confusion. As Tara stared at her, with her clothing ripped open and her hair dishevelled, she marvelled at how beautiful the woman was. Things had changed, she was no longer that evil betrayer…and yet she could not bring herself to get over that memory.

With a grunt of frustration, Willow seized the front of Tara's shirt and drew her close again, claiming her lips in an effort to restart what Tara had interrupted.

"Willow…please," Tara whispered desperately after tearing her lips away from Willow's for a second time. "We have to…stop…before this gets out of hand."

"Why should I for heaven's sake?" Willow demanded fiercely, her breath falling hot, fast and moist on Tara's cheek. "Can you look me in the eye and tell me you don't want this as much as I do?" Willow placed a hand on Tara's cheek and roughly forced her to turn her head. She could not stop her knees trembling as Tara's face filled her entire vision, she exhaled shakily. "Tara?"

Tara tried to turn her head again but Willow held fast, her fingers digging in sharply with determination. She was forced to continue staring into the face of the woman she loved more than life itself. It was torture and yet she could not think of anything else she would rather spend the rest of her days staring at.

Tara swallowed awkwardly as her rapidly blinking eyelids fought a loosing battle to stem the inevitable flow of tears that were about to fall. "With all my heart, yes," Tara finally replied to Willow's question. "I want this," she claimed Willow's lips for a brief moment…she had difficulty breaking away. "And I want you…but we can't do this, not now, not with so much at stake."

"Because I am going to die again?" Willow asked bitterly, letting her arms fall to her sides.

Tara's expression instantly turned to one of shock mingled with horror. She reached up and cupped Willow's face in both hands. "Oh god, Willow, no…"

"Do not suddenly attempt to show your concern!" Willow cried as she jerked herself free of Tara's grip and stumbled backwards a few paces. She turned her back on the vampire and folded her arms stubbornly across her chest like a petulant child. "These past months you have done nothing but run and skulk in the shadows!"

_That is what I have done for the past three decades_, Tara thought with a sharp ache in her gut. _I am done with running…and I will be damned if I am going to let you die again, regardless of wherever that bloody skull is_. "I know I broke a promise to you just yesterday, Willow. I told you I would be there when you woke from your injury, but I ran into the night rather than face you in the morning," she admitted as she looked towards the window. "I am sorry for that…and I am sorry for having to leave you now."

Willow spun around in time to see Tara moving towards the window. "Will you always run from everything and everyone?" she demanded indignantly, extending her hand to try and halt the blonde.

Tara paused at the window. "It is not my intention to run. There is something I must do first."

When she turned and looked over her shoulder Willow saw tears glistening on her marble cheeks. She took a few steps forward and when Tara did not move away, she closed the gap between them until Tara was once again nestled in her arms with her tear streaked cheek pressed against her own.

Willow thought of the lonely cemetery in Hampshire and the grave with the marble headstone that bore her name. She shivered at the memory and the premonition of standing apart from her body, watching as she was lowered back into that grave.

"My grave," Willow stated simply, her voice muffled slightly as she spoke into Tara's skin.

"I have to see," Tara nodded once in confirmation.

"I know what you will find," Willow whispered, touching her own face. "It is odd, I have never felt it before and yet now that I know I can feel it crawling beneath my skin, in every bone. It is inside me."

She felt Tara draw back slightly and when she looked up she saw an all too knowing look in Tara's eyes. Willow transferred her hand from her own face to Tara's, tracing a line from her forehead, down past her eyes and over her cheeks. Tara understood exactly what it was like to have evil lurking beneath her skin. She was condemned to live with it every day.

"I know the skull must be destroyed," Willow finally gave voice to the thoughts she had tried to suppress in the brief time that had elapsed since she overheard Giles and Tara. "And I know that it is inside me." She glanced up at Tara with a smile on her face but no laughter in her eyes. "That has got to create a rather nasty conundrum for Giles."

Tara let out a shaky breath. She was most definitely not amused. "I hope to god that you are wrong, Willow." She ducked her head; her declaration was far from convincing even to her own ears.

Willow lifted her chin defiantly. "Whether I am wrong or not, if I have to let you go then I'm coming with you."

Tara drew back and looked Willow in the eyes, she lifted her hand and laid it gently atop the bandage covering Willow's forehead. The simple movement said it all, Willow knew just how badly she had been wounded in her fight with Dracula and that she would be of very little use to Tara.

"They will be watching your grave, especially now that I am no longer one of them. I cannot risk-"

Willow cut Tara off by pressing a finger to her lips. "I know," was all she said, even though the Van Helsing part of her felt like protesting vehemently.

"Please believe me when I say that I want nothing more than to stay here with you, Willow," Tara whispered in a breathless voice as she repeatedly stroked Willow's face, "I want nothing more than for us to remain here and make love to one another…just being here with you, having tasted you again, it's torture wanting more and yet…"

"I know you have to do this…I heard you," Willow finished with a sigh. "Even though I myself cannot see the difficulty in choosing. When there is a choice of duty or being with you…I would choose you every time."

Willow closed her eyes and tightened her hold on Tara as though that would keep her from leaving. She knew with an aching heart that it would not be enough.

Tara ran a shaking hand through Willow's hair, even though she was still physically standing in Willow's arms, her mind was already somewhere altogether. Duty…was she doomed to be haunted forever by that word. Although Willow had not intended to re-open old wounds, Tara could not help but remember that it had been her own devotion to duty that had separate them in the first place. She sighed and deposited a gentle kiss on Willow's forehead.

A brief moment later Willow felt her arms go slack as Tara's body disappeared. When she opened her eyes once more all that remained of Tara's intoxicating presence was a faint trail of dark mist drifting through a slight gap in the window.

"I love you so much, Willow." The soft voice sounded as though it were being carried away on the wind.

Willow let her legs give way beneath her and she sank onto the cushions of her window seat. She pressed one hand to the cool glass of the window and the other to her still-warm lips, the memory of Tara's kiss still lingering there.


	38. Love and Sacrifice

**Chapter Thirty-Eight  
Love and Sacrifice**

Night had long since descended and a definite chill had crept into the air, but neither of these things bothered the figure hunched in the shadows of a large oak. In fact, he preferred the night…and the chill he did not feel in the slightest.

Marcus folded his arms across his thin chest, bared by the open shirt he wore, and glanced out towards the seemingly inconsequential cemetery in the middle of nowhere. He felt like uttering a small grunt of disgust but it was pointless, it was exactly the same thing he had done every night for the past two months…and in that time nothing had changed. He did not mind the night or the cold, what he did mind was the boredom.

_Watch the cemetery_, he thought to himself, repeating the orders he had be given. _She may visit…and she may not…and I would have wasted all this time staring at a graveyard. I can think of better ways to spend my immortality._ Marcus turned his gaze away from the church. It irritated him if he stared at it too long. He then slumped back against the tree at his back with a sullen expression on his face. Still, he supposed he could hardly complain when he was so far down the hierarchy. His superiors would have no qualms destroying him and simply choosing another lackey to watch the cemetery.

Marcus had no way of knowing that at least one of the nights during his tenure in Hampshire would be interesting, just as he had no way of knowing that it would be his last.

There was almost no warning, just the distant hooting of a startled owl. Marcus glanced up only to see a dark shape swooping from the tree above. He barely had time to think about uttering a scream before a blade flashed in the darkness and severed his head. His watch was effectively ended.

With Dracula's lone guardian now mere particles drifting in the wind, Tara reluctantly turned her attention to the small garden of headstones nestled in the unkempt grass. As she walked forward, she could already see the particular one she sought. Tara paused just short of the headstone for it was the coffin that lay beneath it that she was there to examine. With her stomach crawling, Tara began to murmur the spell that would carve the earth from Willow's grave for the second time.

* * *

Rupert Giles barely had to wait a second after rapping his knuckles on the great black door of Gordon Square. His arm was still lifted when it swung inwards to reveal the smiling face of young Myles Cavendish. Despite the continual threat of violence from the creatures of the night and the instability of his housemates, living at Gordon Square appeared to agree with the young man if his beaming smile was anything to go by. Giles did however frown with concern as Myles immediately opened the door wide to usher him inside.

"Security is a bit lax, Mr Cavendish!" Giles commented sternly. "Especially in times such as these."

"I assure you it is not, Mr Giles sir," Myles replied quickly, shifting slightly so that Giles could see the crossbow strapped to his back. "I had you in my sights from the moment you turned into Gordon Square!"

At that moment Faith emerged from the kitchen carrying a tray laden with bread and cheese, she snorted slightly as Myles swung the crossbow into his hands and aimed it at a point beyond Giles to show his skill. "You need fear ending up with a bolt in your forehead, Giles, not unless you were as wide as you are tall. We're still working on Myles's aim."

Myles looked slightly offended but he shrugged it off affably and re-shouldered his crossbow. He did take a special interest in the bread and cheese on Faith's tray as he followed her into the parlour. Giles hung his own coat on the rack by the door and joined them. The Van Helsing's taste in furnishings never failed to amuse him, even at a time when he could draw little amusement from other sources; he found the black and white contrasts decidedly odd and stark. They were definitely more a reflection of the middle-aged Abraham Van Helsing than either sibling in their impetuous youth.

Curled in one corner of a large black sofa was a rather pale and drawn Willow. Giles noted the manner in which Faith sat protectively at her side as she set the tray down in front of them both. Myles swooped immediately, seizing a sizeable wedge of cheese and a hunk of bread before returning to his post at the window with the crossbow balanced on his lap.

"How are you keeping?" Giles asked the redhead with an attempt at a warm smile on his face. The question sounded empty and formulaic to his ears.

"Aside from the fact I've recently learned I have a demonic skull lurking inside of me…I'm peachy," Willow replied, playing with a loose strand of wool on the robe she wore. She reluctantly accepted a soft piece of bread from Faith but did not make any attempt to eat it.

"It's only a theory-" Giles began hopefully.

"I know it's there, Giles," Willow interrupted in a firm voice that would brook no nonsense.

Giles nodded uncomfortably and changed the subject slightly. "I understand Tara has gone to Hampshire?"

At the mention of the blonde vampire's name, Giles saw a slight flush creep across Willow's cheeks. Just as he raised his eyebrows in surprise, she turned her head. It was not a particularly effective tactic as he could still see the curve of one very pink cheek. Giles did not know quite what to make of this new realisation, had they been in another situation at a less perilous time he supposed he might have been happy for the young woman. As it was, he worried that it would cause unnecessary difficulties throughout what was to come…despite the fact that it was hardly surprising. Even he had to admit that Willow and Tara belonged together; it was just that Willow had come to that realisation at an unfortunate time. Giles helped himself to a wedge of cheese and took a seat on a black ottoman.

"She has gone to examine my coffin," Willow finally replied, her cheeks had lost some of their pink glow as she turned to face Giles.

"Ewww," Myles announced from his position at the window. "Will you not be all mouldy and wormy?"

Myles's face quickly lost its mock grimace beneath the combined disapproving stares of Faith and Giles. Willow however smirked slightly, pleased to have the heavy air hanging in her parlour dissipated by a brief moment of levity.

"It's alright, Myles. There's nothing in the coffin, at least not any bones anyway. Tara ground them to dust to create my new body and that's why we believe the skull is inside me," Willow commented, surprised at how easily the admission flowed from her lips.

Myles's grimace returned quickly, along with a hint of fascination. "Okay…that is decidedly worse than either mould or worms."

Faith coughed loudly. "Myles, stop talking for heaven's sake."

"I was just saying…" Myles turned his attention back to the window for a brief moment before his curiosity got the better of him and he turned back to Willow. "I mean, you have to destroy the skull. How is it going to come out?"

"That's the real question," Willow commented, turning away from Myles to stare directly at Giles who was sitting rather stiffly on his ottoman.

"Myles, window!" Faith barked.

Myles turned around swiftly and pressed his face to the window with concentration enough to convince Faith he was done asking questions. In the wake of Myles's innocent curiosity the room was filled only with tense silence. It remained that way for several minutes until Willow sat up a little straighter, she then leant forward and replaced the uneaten hunk of bread Faith had given her earlier back on the tray.

"I think we should continue with our plans, we have the skull, we take it to Covasna and use Giles's destruction spell to undo its evil once and for all," Willow announced confidently, ignoring the look of horror that passed quickly over Faith's face.

"And I say there's no way in hell that we would keep to that plan!" Faith spluttered as she leapt to her feet. "It's a bloody suicide mission and I won't stand for it!"

"Faith..." Willow tried to interrupt her friend but her voice came out broken and soft.

If Faith had heard Willow at all, she ignored her and turned to Giles, continuing in an adamant, angry tone, "Tell her she's being bloody ridiculous and you'll refuse-"

"Faith!" This time Willow also rose to her feet, her gaze shining with a fierce determination. Faith paused mid sentence and acknowledged Willow with an angry glare. The redhead continued, "If I'm willing to risk it then that should be the end of it."

Obviously Willow's argument was less than convincing as Faith continued, "Giles please tell her she's not going to go through with her hair brained scheme! Tell her the spell will kill her!" she protested as she whirled back to face Giles.

"I'm sorry Faith but it's my decision, regardless of what Giles says," Willow nodded towards the warlock who had a nervous expression on his face as he was forced to face the two strong-willed women.

"Giles?" Faith repeated insistently as though the old warlock was her last hope for reason.

Giles shifted his posture uncomfortably, he was staring at Willow who was still looking stubbornly at the floor, "I honestly cannot say what effect the spell will have on Willow. It was designed to destroy the skull."

"But not while it was inside someone!" Faith gasped in horror, flabbergasted that he was not instantly refuting Willow's decision.

Giles shrugged sadly. "No, but then again I am not about to refuse to perform the spell. I have seen what Dracula's army is capable of and I swore never to let it scour the earth again. If Willow is willing to risk the spell…" His voice trailed off as he was unable to finish.

Willow finally looked up and she nodded towards Giles in thanks. The warlock however did not look pleased that he had sided with her and he was unable to hold her gaze. He nibbled on his wedge of cheese with little enthusiasm. She turned her attention back to Faith who had by now turned a nasty shade of green.

"You do not have to accompany me, Faith," Willow announced quietly. "But I will be leaving to begin my journey to Covasna tomorrow night and your presence would greatly bolster my spirits."

Faith looked wounded for a moment before straightening her back and thrusting her chin forward defiantly. "I think you're being exceptionally foolish. I normally would not condone any of your foolish actions and I certainly do not condone this one…but I would not be anywhere else other than at your side." As Willow smiled and nodded gratefully in response Faith marched forward and seized her elbow. "And now you are going back to bed, the least I can do is see you start out in good health…even if you're not in your right mind!"

With a last glance over her should towards Giles, Willow was lead out of the room by Faith. No doubt the brunette would try once more to try and talk Willow out of her plans…and Giles knew that she would fail. Once Willow had set her mind to something…she was unflappable in her resolve. He sighed again and crammed the remainder of his wedge of cheese into his mouth. He swallowed and it grated against his throat as though it were sand.

It was only then that Giles remembered that Myles had been in the room throughout the whole conversation. He turned to see that the young man was still at his post, still with his eyes fixed on a distant point outside. Giles could see his reflection however, and he clearly saw the gleam of tears in the young man's eyes. It was easy to dismiss the young man's concerns but he obviously had a great depth of feeling for Willow, he just could not express himself as vehemently as Faith.

"Myles, you can rest too. No doubt you will need all your strength for the journey to Covasna," Giles said quietly. The young man turned with a suddenly hopefully look in his eyes and Giles nodded to confirm that he had really just spoken those words. "I'll take over the watch."

Myles beamed as he left the window and pressed the crossbow into Giles's waiting hands. "Thank you very much, Mr Giles. You will not regret this I assure you!"

"We're not going on a picnic, Myles," Giles cautioned him.

The smile disappeared from the young man's face to be replaced by a serious expression that made him seem older. "The last visit to Covasna was certainly no picnic and I believe I acquitted myself admirably."

"That you did, Myles," Giles replied with a warm smile. "That you did."

Before he left the room, Myles helped himself to the bulk of the bread and cheese remaining on the tray. With his departure Giles was left alone in the room, he set the crossbow aside as he possessed other, more effective, means of attack.

He suddenly wished he had not sent Myles away so quickly, the room was all too empty and he had the strange longing for company. Giles turned his attention to the two portraits hanging above the black fireplace; one of course was of Willow Van Helsing, and the other, Abraham. It saddened the old warlock to stare at Van Helsing as a young man with his smooth, strong jaw-line and vibrant thatch of red hair. His green eyes had not danced as merrily as they did in the painting in the years following Willow's death. Until he laid eyes on the painting, Giles had immense difficulty remembering Abraham as a young man. The memories he had were mostly of the bitter, twisted old man who had been unable to let go of his vengeance.

Two paintings, the faces of two siblings, tortured and forever changed by their connection to the underworld and its denizens. At that moment Giles swore that he would do everything in his power to see Willow safely through the coming days. He would find a way to safely destroy the skull, no matter the cost to himself. He folded himself onto one of the black sofas and found it decidedly comfortable despite its appearance.

Almost three hours passed, Giles found himself drifting in and out of a sort of sleep in which he dreamt mostly of the skull. Although he considered himself fully alert and aware of his surroundings, apparently that was not the case.

"Giles."

The warlock felt his heart almost leap out of his chest at the sudden interruption. Now wide awake he placed his hand on his chest before turning to see Tara standing in the shadows next to the window, once again wearing her cloak. She drew the hood back as she stepped forward into the gas light.

Giles thought that she appeared slightly dishevelled, although considering this was Tara, dishevelled merely meant that her clothing was rumpled and a few strands of her hair were out of place. He could tell that she was feeling the strain of having travelled a fair distance in a short amount of time, her shoulders sagged slightly and she chose to sit on the edge of one of the sofas. Despite her exhaustion, she remained sitting upright with a straight back as though she felt uncomfortable to be sitting at all.

"Gordon Square was being watched…as one would have expected," Tara announced quietly, she brushed the folds of her cloak and a great deal of dust fell to the floor. "It is being watched no longer."

"How many were there?" Giles asked.

"Five…but only one caused me any real difficulty," Tara shrugged before she continued, "Tomorrow night there will no doubt be more. If we are going to leave, then we must leave soon."

"Our suspicions have been confirmed?" Giles asked even though the question wasn't necessary. He turned back to stare at Willow's portrait, as though fixing the young woman squarely in his mind.

"Yes…I found nothing physically save an empty coffin and one of Dracula's lowliest bottom-feeders watching over the cemetery." Tara too stared at the portrait, a wistful expression passed over her serene features, as though she would rather prefer to be staring at the woman herself. After a moments silence between the two of them, she was prompted to continue revealing her findings as Giles turned to face her. "It was difficult to say the least…but I did manage to pick up a faint residue in the coffin itself. The residue of something so foul it made me sick to my stomach."

"The skull," Giles added unnecessarily. "It was there."

Tara cast her eyes to the roof, as though she could see through the ceiling and into the room where Willow no doubt lay sleeping. "And now it is here."

Giles studied Tara as she tilted her head upwards, he could not read her expression but he knew her discovery pained her greatly. It was a useless observation. Tara was in love with Willow, how could it not pain her? He gave her just a few moments out of respect for the emotions that were no doubt coursing through her mind before pressing on with their urgent business.

"The skull is an object of immense dark magic…do you think it odd that Willow has not felt any effects from its power?" Giles asked.

"She says she has not…and I would of course take her word for that. Why however, I cannot say," Tara shook her head. "It troubles me to no end - especially the fact that it took you so long to concoct the destruction spell in the first place. How much longer will it take you to write one that takes into account the location of the skull?"

Giles looked guilty and it took Tara just a moment to realise that the warlock had absolutely no intention of writing a new spell to take into account the fact that it was inside Willow. She shivered. "You mean to take her to Covasna?" She could barely choke out the name of the place. "And perform the spell regardless? Giles how could you!"

"You know I would not take her anywhere or do anything to her without her consent," Giles said quickly. "Willow has made the decision to leave tomorrow night and I have supported that decision."

"Willow," Tara whispered, her body finally sagging to the point where she slumped back in her seat. "What effect will the spell have on her, Giles?"

"I honestly do not know, Tara," Giles admitted, "But I will do my best to try and modify the spell within reason. However I am fearful that any slight change will render the spell impotent and ruin our past sacrifices. You must understand."

"I understand." The simple words sounded as though they were forced out with great difficulty. Tara had to pause and draw a breath before continuing just as reluctantly. "She has already given her life once for the skull, I know she would do it again in an instant."

"And we will do everything in our power to ensure she survives this time around…" Giles's voice slowly faded. Tara had stopped paying attention to him. She had risen to her feet and was moving towards the door. He knew she intended to go to Willow. It was what he would do had he ever felt so strongly about someone. A small sigh of reluctance escaped his lips; he paused with his mouth open for a few seconds as though thinking better of his words. "I realise you don't want to leave Willow at this time," Giles began quietly.

The words had no sooner left his mouth, than Tara's attention instantly refocused on Giles. She turned and interrupted in a curt tone, "You are right, I do not want to leave Willow."

Tara momentarily considered ignoring Giles's as yet unspoken request and making her way to Willow. They had so little time and she wanted more than anything to hold the small redhead in her arms as tightly as possible, for as long as possible…she hoped somehow that would be enough to stop time in its tracks.

Yet she knew that expression on Giles's face and she also knew that he would not be asking if it was not urgent. She knew without him asking her anything that to refuse would mean risking everything - especially Willow's already endangered life.

"What do you want me to do, Giles?" Tara asked quietly, reluctantly.

"Tara, you know I cannot compel you to do anything…" Giles sensed that reluctance and appeared apologetic.

She was not impressed by his attempt at explanation and she turned on him with her arms folded stubbornly across her chest. "Do not play that card with me Giles," she reproached him sternly. "You know full well I have done everything you have ever asked of me and more, though it has cost me dearly to do so."

Giles was momentarily taken aback before he bristled with a slight anger. "You speak as though you have had no free choice in your actions."

"Have I?" Tara began angrily. However she did not follow up her angry retort. She bit her lip to silence herself and waved her hand to cut Giles off before he could say anything further. "Now is not the time for arguing, just tell me what you want me to do?"

"Go to Hagley Park," Giles announce resolutely, his head nodding slightly as he did so.

_Hagley Park._ Just the name of the place was enough to bring a small, sad smile to Tara's lips…even at such a trying hour. She had spent her happiest days at the Van Helsing's country home, surrounding by green meadows and thick copses of birch and oak trees. Even now, so many years removed from that time in her life, she could summon almost every detail, every smell and sound. The day's bread baking in the kitchen, the clattering of hooves upon the cobbles as Abraham charged into the stable-yard upon his mount and most of all. Willow's laughter as she led her on a merry chase through the halls...and Willow's cries as she lay naked beneath or above her in any number of less than ladylike positions. The sad smile had disappeared by the time Tara was ready to speak. "I understand that you do not want our foes to gather the slightest inclination that we have the skull but to seek to mislead them into believing the skull is at Hagley Park…do you honestly think it would be foremost in Dracula's mind?"

"Without a doubt…he is well aware of the significance that Hagley Park held for Abraham and Willow," Giles replied firmly. "But if you would rather I sent Faith so you can remain here with Willow-"

"Giles stop," Tara interrupted. "I have already made my decision. If there is even the slightest possibility that such a ruse will keep Willow safer, then I will go." _And Willow needs her best friend more than ever, I cannot ask Faith to place herself in such danger_. As fearless and powerful as she was, Tara still considered Faith a mere mortal, with a mortal's insufficient strength.

"Do not take any chances-" Giles began.

Tara cut him short once again. "Giles, please do not lecture me. With Willow expecting me to return safely to her, I will use the utmost caution."

Tara paused just beyond the parlour; she crossed the short distance to the bottom of Gordon Square's main staircase. Tentatively she placed her hand on the banister as though she would ascend the stairs. However she did not. She knew full well that she could ascend and make her way down the hall to Willow's room where she would find the redhead peacefully asleep…or possibly wide awake and waiting for her.

"You will tell Willow…that I shall not be far behind?" Tara asked over her shoulder. "And…" She paused again, wanting to be able to tell Willow more. However she felt odd at the thought of having Giles relay her most personal sentiments and she shook her head softly. "Just tell her that, please."

"Certainly," Giles assured her.

Even after Giles's promise, Tara continued to pause until, with a slight sigh of frustration, she turned and made her way back out into the night air.

As desperately as she wanted to see Willow, she knew she would not be able to leave her side if she so much as gave her a single glance that evening. Tara understood the importance of the task Giles had given to her, it was imperative that the small group were able to leave London without being noticed. With any luck, Dracula's minions would follow her west to Hampshire. She did not for a moment consider the danger inherent in her task.

* * *

The Thames was shrouded in a murky mist, adding to the gloom of night. Very few ships would have dared to depart at such a godforsaken hour of the morning but in such conditions but one small vessel was currently being loaded. Nervous sailors carried bulky, strangely shaped luggage aboard and stowed it carefully, as though they expected awful retribution if they were to treat it carelessly. The ship's passengers, all wearing dark clothing and hats, were also nervous.

Willow tugged the simple worker's cap lower over her head, but it would not come down far enough to cover her ears, only the tips were protected from the brisk chill. She envied Giles's woollen sailor's cap as she spied him standing near the gangplank, authority in his voice as he directed the sailors. Willow lifted her hands to her face and blew on them lightly to warm them before putting them back into the pockets of the thick coat she wore, buttoned up to her chin. Myles was standing beside her, bouncing nervously on the balls of his feet, also wearing a coat and cap.

"Myles, for god's sake stop that, you're making me nervous," Willow snapped, thrusting her freezing hands into her pockets as she watched another bag of what she knew to be weapons carried aboard and stowed on deck.

"Sorry," Myles squeaked, he retrieved a stick of hard candy from his pocket. After brushing a few stray hairs off the sticky candy, he put it in his mouth. The resulting sucking and crunching noises were just as annoying as his fidgeting and Willow ordered him to board the ship and do his best to keep out of the path of the busy sailors.

She then turned her attention towards Faith who was overseeing the loading of their crates of firebombs. Willow looked at the number of crates such had brought with her and wondered just how many people or objects Faith was intending to firebomb. The brunette did not trust the sailors to carry the temperamental glass orbs and she obviously intended to carry them aboard herself.

All in all, their preparations moved swiftly, but not so swiftly that their haste would draw undue attention to their small party. Willow cocked her head slightly at the distant sound of a carriage crossing the cobbles. Her heart beat a little wilder when she realised it was not drawing away, but coming nearer. Sure enough, out of the gloom emerged a small covered carriage drawn by two dark mares. She breathed a sigh of relief that was shared by everyone else as she recognised a carriage belonging to the British museum.

The driver drew to a halt near Faith, who cradled her firebombs protectively as the horses pawed the ground, impatient to be in a warm stable and out of the night air. He leapt down from his seat to open the door, but his passenger pre-empted him as she opened her own door and stepped out onto the cobbles. It was none other than Lara Croft herself, wearing a long leather coat that covered her completely save her head and hands. One hand held tightly to her cane which she used to help herself down the carriage steps.

"Just when I was beginning to think you wouldn't come and see me off," Faith smiled broadly at her lover. She left her precious cargo to cross the distance between her and Lara and ignored the fact that she was in public as she swept the other woman into a firm embrace. They shared a brief kiss before Faith set her down once more.

"Who said anything about seeing you off," Lara replied quietly, lifting her eyebrows.

Faith's smile vanished quickly when Lara's driver moved around to the back of the carriage and smartly removed two small bags from the luggage compartment. An eager sailor immediately came forward to claim the bags with the intention of taking them aboard the ship.

He was intercepted by Faith who snatched both bags from the driver with an indignant expression on her face. "Where the hell do you think you're going?" she snapped at her lover, leaving the embarrassed sailor unsure as to whether or not he should take the bags.

"I'm tired of staying behind while the rest of you go flitting off to Europe, I've decided to join you," Lara replied quite calmly. She snatched one of her bag from a dumbfounded Faith and handed it to the sailor. She nodded that he should take the other one. Carefully, as though worried Faith would bite his hand off, he took the remaining bag from Faith's grasp. He then gratefully scurried away from the two women. Willow, Giles and Myles however were not as discreet as they looked on with interest as their friends faced each other.

"You've decided…you've decided?" Faith repeated loudly as Lara's words began to sink in. She glanced across at Giles who was giving her a stern glance and she lowered her voice to a quiet but intense hiss. "I don't care what you've decided. There is no way in hell you're coming with us! And for your information we are not 'flitting' off to Europe, we're on a mission to save the known world."

"It was a figure of speech," Lara shrugged, still apparently completely unperturbed by Faith's reaction to her intentions. "Who do you think is financing this 'mission' of yours? I mean to ensure firsthand that my money will be well spent."

"That is not why you are coming," Faith replied tartly.

"No, it is not," Lara admitted, cocking her head to one side as she smiled at her lover.

"You are coming because you stupidly believe that you can be of some use to us!" Faith cried in exasperation, resorting to blatantly cruel tactics to avoid seeing Lara join them. The small smile on Lara's face only made her feel as though she were being petulant and foolish when her intentions had far more serious consequences. "You cannot run let alone fight. God Lara, would you make me go into battle with my concern for your safety outweighing all other concerns?" Faith's voice caught slightly as she blinked back tears of frustration.

Lara seemed unconcerned at Faith's words, hurtful though they may have been. She reached out and tenderly stroked her lover's chin. "I was fighting demons while you still had your hair done in braids and dolls on your lap…and regardless of my infirmity I can still outshoot you. Faith, I love you dearly but it simply comes down to the fact that I am the Director of the British Museum and I have decided that I will be going on this mission."

With that obviously to be taken as the final word on the matter, Lara determinedly strode past Faith, only using her cane sparingly as she moved towards the gangplank.

Almost completely red in the face, Faith watched as Lara walked straight past her. She took a few steps in Lara's wake but stopped short of physically restraining her. "I do not care if you are the Director of the bloody British Museum. You can fire me for all I care but I do care that you are my lover, and as your lover I beg you not to come!"

There was an awkward silence in the air following Faith's outburst, only broken by the sound of candy crunching in Myles's mouth. Lara did not look back as she boarded the ship and disappeared into the main cabin. Faith finally gave up staring after her lover in expectance of a reply and turned her attention back to her firebombs. When she eventually carried them aboard she did so with such careless abandon that all looked on in horror until they were safely stowed.

Willow felt a measure of Faith's pain but she also sympathised with Lara. She suspected that although the Director had every intention of assisting with their mission to the best of her considerable abilities, her agenda was simply being with Faith…no matter where in the world she was going. With a slight sigh, Willow glanced around at the almost empty dock. Now that most of their luggage was loaded, there was very little reason for her to remain standing on dry ground other than to keep watch for Tara. She reluctantly moved towards the small ship. Her footsteps sounded hollow as she trudged up the gangplank, all the while keeping a firm grip on the single strand of knotted rope that served as a thoroughly inadequate railing. Once on board she hardly felt safer as she felt the ship sway ever so slightly beneath her. With a shudder she remembered the disaster that had been her last Channel crossing. They were still moored on the Thames; Willow hated to think what it would be like once their small craft reached the Channel.

To take her mind off the imminent journey, Willow divided her time between watching the remainder of their luggage get tossed aboard by the crew and staring out into the early morning darkness. At any moment she expected a slender shape to emerge, with blonde hair framing a beautiful face…Tara promised she would return. Willow sighed as the last of the luggage was on deck, she knew that Tara had verbally promised no such thing and yet she had felt it go unspoken between them. The scraping of the gangplank as it was drawn onto the ship caused her to search out Giles. She did not have to look further than the other side of the deck, he was standing watching her.

"She is coming isn't she, Giles?" Willow asked insistently.

Giles tugged his woollen sailors cap down over his ears and turned away slightly so Willow could not see the guilty look that passed across his face. "Wherever you are, Tara will never be far away."

Willow missed his expression as she lent over the gunwale and stared at the river ahead but she did manage a tight-lipped smile in response to Giles's uncharacteristically emotional answer. Her eyes were veiled as she stared into the murky darkness. "Well, she should bloody well be on the boat with the rest of us." She then lifted her gaze to the night sky where not a single star shone down on them. "I can't stand the thought of her being alone in the dark."

"Tara will be fine, she is a creature of the night after all," Giles reminded her quietly.

Willow tightened her grip on the railing in front of her. She held on under her fingers were white and numb with cold before finally thrusting them back into the pockets of her coat. The intense burning sensation as feeling returned reminded her that she was very much alive.

"That might have been true once," Willow finally replied to Giles. "But everything has changed now."

Giles waited for a moment as though expecting Willow to elaborate on her cryptic sentence. She did not however, and eventually he left her alone by the railing.

Willow remained watching the shore as the gangplank was slowly drawn up, the moorings thrown off and the ship slowly began to move out into the middle of the river. Tara never came.

* * *

Seated upon his throne, Dracula heard a rasping of hinges and he watched the great doors at the far end of his hall swing inwards, through the slight gap entered one lone figure. Dracula snorted immediately, he recognised the figure even though that end of the hall was shrouded in darkness. He knew that whip-thin body anywhere. It was William.

He had an inkling of what William had come to tell him before the fool even opened his mouth. Dracula tightened his grip on the arms of his throne, trying to prevent himself from rising to his feet and tearing the messenger a new mouth in his throat.

"I have disturbing news, my Lord," William murmured as he lowered himself to one knee in front of Dracula's throne. He went down grudgingly, as though it was not an action that came easily to him.

"All your news at present has been disturbing, William," Dracula commented in a bland tone. "You came to me not two hours hence and assured me the skull was at Hagley Park! I am expecting you to tell me that you have the skull in your possession!"

William swallowed awkwardly. "Maclay was sighted near the former Van Helsing home, that raised suspicions…but I have just gleaned from wharf rats that a small party matching the descriptions of our foes left the docks the day before yesterday," William announced in a slow voice, as though he was fearful of the reaction his news would provoke. "It would seem that somehow, they have found the skull."

"How do we know that is not a ruse and the skull is in actual fact with Maclay?" Dracula asked, his voice trembling with rage as he drummed his fingers on the arms of his thrones.

"She is alone…our sightings from the wharf match the descriptions of their entire party, including the old warlock," William replied in an impertinent tone, already rising to his feet instead of remaining on his knees in the presence of his Master. "They obviously have it and have sought to leave for Covasna to destroy it without arousing our suspicions!"

Dracula laughed unexpectedly. It was a throaty demented sound. William frowned as he knelt before the throne, rightly wondering if his Master were losing control.

"All these years spent searching desperately for the skull and in the end all we had to do was wait for the path to be revealed to us," he cackled.

"Little good it will do us if they destroy the skull," William commented bitterly, almost under his breath.

William glanced up, knowing full well that Dracula had overheard him. He would not however grovel; he kept his square chin thrust defiantly upwards and waited on the decision of his Master.

"Assemble the hordes, we ride now!" Dracula commanded immediately, his booming voice at odds with his relaxed posture upon his throne.

"Now my Lord?" William clarified nervously, his composure wavering somewhat beneath the fearsome gaze of Dracula, it was maniacal in its intensity.

"Now!" Dracula repeated. "As many as can be mustered, we ride for Covasna!"

As William turned his back to him and walked out of the great hall, Dracula had to suppress the urge to smite the vampire in one fell blow. He channelled his anger into a single clenched fist held before him and vowed that neither Willow Van Helsing, nor Tara Maclay, would leave the field of Covasna – either alive or undead.

He then turned to his left and saw, illuminated in the faint flickering of torchlight, his suit of armour. With a nostalgic smile he lifted himself from his throne and slowly made his way towards it. The closer he came, the more of its intricate detail he was able to pick out. It was a magnificent work of craftsmanship, black steel worked by master armourers who had been turned and pressed into service for him alone. He lifted his fingers towards it and ran them over the inlaid gold and silver designs which were traced out over the entire breastplate. They trailed outwards, over the shoulder guards and continuing to the gauntlets. The helmet was a fearsome creation, wrought into the likeness of the demon that was mounted above his throne.

Dracula remembered the last time he had worn it, riding at the head of his army. He smiled, he would wear it again…and again he would ride at the head of his horde of undead warriors, a great torrent that would sweep Europe clean of the unworthy - starting with the pathetic band of fools who sought to destroy the skull.


	39. The Night Before

**A/N: **Warning - definitely NSFW for naughty stuff..

**Chapter Thirty-Nine  
The Night Before**

The Channel crossing had proven not to be quite as horrendous as Willow had feared but the following weeks of almost non-stop travel as they raced for Covasna had taken a toll on their small party. Even though she felt she should be used to riding following what she thought was a significant amount of experience, Willow still found herself sore at the end of each day's travel. She found herself longing for the relative comfort of the train that had carried them as far as Klausenburg. However after the city, there were no trains that could take them where they needed to go, deep into the mountains where even the locals would not dare to venture. There were also no hotels of even modest comfort that could provide them with a decent night's sleep, just the cold hard ground and the slim protection offered by canvas tents.

At the end of yet another day of travel, as darkness began to fall, an exhausted Willow tumbled into her tent. She was hungry and felt as though she was coated in enough travel grime to fill a large bathtub...however more than food or a bath, she desired sleep. The fact that there was no bath to be had made the choice even easier. She was disturbed a few minutes later by Faith's insistent voice. Even though Faith was merely concerned that she was hungry, Willow told her to go away in no uncertain terms.

Darkness had fallen completely when Willow awoke again. It took her a few minutes to realise that she had turned herself over in her sleep and managed to pull half a blanket over herself. Beyond the half open door of her tent she saw the dying embers of a fire and Giles's slumped shape as he was hunched over, scribbling madly on a piece of paper in the weak light.

Willow rolled over and tried to return to sleep. However as exhausted as she was she could not find the peace of mind that would allow slumber to claim her. She was not even sure she wanted to return to sleep; her dreams had been dark and troubled…just as they had been throughout the entire journey. With a sigh, she peeled back the blanket and extracted herself from the tent. The earth was cool beneath the thin socks on her feet and the chill of a slight wind reminded her that she ought to don her jacket. However she could not be bothered fetching it and instead crossed the clearing towards the fire, hoping the dying embers still radiated at least a little warmth. She could not see what Giles was working on, but whatever it was occupied him so intensely she was able to stand behind him for a good minute.

"Can't sleep?" he asked suddenly, just as she was about to announce her presence.

He turned with a small, warm smile on his face. At Willow's nod he set down the pencil and paper in his hand and rose to his feet stiffly. He stretched obviously weary bones and stifled a yawn. Surprisingly, Giles then held his arm out wide to beckon Willow into his embrace. After a moment's hesitation, Willow slipped crossed the short distance between them and gratefully sank against Giles's thin but solid frame. She felt his wiry arms loop around her back and draw her close; close enough for her to smell the cigar smoke and hint of whiskey that lingered on his clothing. Willow found a strength and solidity in that embrace that she sorely needed. Besides Abraham, Giles was the one masculine presence that she had been able to count on.

"I have never before thought to say as much," Giles said quietly. "But I do consider you as a daughter and love you as one."

"I love you too, Giles," Willow replied with no further hesitation on her part. She then drew back far enough to enable her to look him directly in the eyes. "Whatever you have to do tomorrow to be successful in destroying the skull, I want you to do it. I do not want any sentiment or emotion to cloud what must be done - understood?"

"Perfectly," Giles found his voice hoarse as he studied the determination in the young woman's eyes. He sighed wistfully. "I wish to god your brother had your strength."

"He fell to pieces after he lost me." Willow tried to apologise for him until she realised that she could not bring herself to make excuses for Abraham. There was nothing she could say that could erase what he did to Tara and, in turn, to her.

"You lost everything and yet here you are," Giles said what Willow could not.

"I would not be anywhere else," Willow stated emphatically. However after a moment's pause she frowned as though mulling over the logic of those words in her head. "Well, actually I would rather be somewhere…anywhere else, even the icy waste of the Arctic circle would be preferable to being so close to Covasna again but…" Willow paused again and drew a deep breath. "I hate the word 'duty' for a very good reason, and yet this has always been mine. Before I knew such evil things as vampires and demons existed in this world this was my task, my duty, and I'm going to see it carried out."

"Regardless of the cost," Giles whispered.

Willow sniffed quietly but she did not reply to his statement. There was absolutely nothing useful to say about the topic of self-sacrifice. She could only know in her heart that dying was the last thing she wanted to do…again. Yet for all the deepest desires of her heart, fate would do what it wished with her. She would be carried along in its currents and it was all she could do to see that whatever she did…she did to the best of her ability.

"I do believe that someone else would like a moment of your time," Giles interrupted her thoughts.

Willow looked up to see him nod towards a spot over her shoulder. Frowning, she slipped out of Giles's embrace and turned to the point he had indicated. Standing next to her tent she saw none other than Tara. The frown disappeared to be replaced by concern as she searched the blonde vampire for any trace of harm or fatigue. Beside the fact that there were the ever-present dark circles beneath her eyes, she appeared unscathed. Her concern then gave way to anger as she was forced to relive the anguish that the blonde's absence had caused her throughout their journey.

"You," Willow began in a whisper but she had to stop and swallow to avoid having an awkward coughing fit. "You return from Hampshire only to go running off again without even paying me the courtesy of one small word of acknowledgement. Now you just show up in the middle of nowhere with your aggravatingly calm expression and expect me to what? Fall into your arms?" Willow stopped and folded her arms stubbornly across her chest as if she had no intention of taking a single step towards the blonde.

"Will?" Tara prodded gently with a decided gleam in her blue eyes.

"What?" Willow spat back in a grumpy tone.

"Be silent and come here."

Willow's resolve crumpled and she practically fell across the distance that separated them and into Tara's waiting arms. In a split second they had resumed the kiss that had been cut short a few days earlier. Neither woman noticed Giles quietly disappear into the shadows to give them some privacy.

"I…am…sorry!" Willow managed to gasp in the brief moments that Tara's lips were not on hers.

Tara drew back slightly, cupping Willow's pale face gently between her hands even as Willow tried to continue speaking. She shook her head slightly, "Now is not the not the time to say sorry, Will, I just want us to be together."

"Together, together?" Willow asked hopefully.

Tara found herself smiling at the expression on Willow's face; she pressed her lips to hers in a brief kiss. "Together, together as we were always meant to be. As we will be." _As we will be_, Tara uttered the silent promise even as Willow grasped her about the waist and lead her urgently towards the tent, already tugging the at the ties of her cloak. The dark garment slid like water to the ground.

With no small amount of struggling with canvas and annoying ropes, they managed to fight their way into the tent. Willow fell backwards beneath Tara's weight. Only a few blankets and a canvas sheet softened her fall. She let out a ragged gasp as the wind was knocked out of her. As soon as she was able however she seized the back of Tara's neck and drew her down hard, their lips crashing together once more.

At some point during the kiss, Tara managed to undo the majority of the buttons on Willow's shirt and then drag her woollen vest up to expose her breasts. Although there was very little light in the tent, she could see the pale mounds of flesh rising and falling rapidly in time with Willow's urgent breaths. She pinned Willow's hands up behind her head and began ravaging her breasts with an insistent mouth. She had to fight to reign in her urges as she was struck by the frightening realisation that her desire would prove to be unstoppable. She needed to have Willow and it went beyond her physical desire for the redhead to a need to assert her humanity. As her mouth explored Willow's breasts and one hand held Willow's hands above her head, she moved the other hand downwards. She pushed insistently beneath the band of Willow's pants and plunged downwards towards the heat at her centre. A small cry from Willow brought her crashing back to earth.

"Willow…I-I?" Tara felt the redhead trembling violently beneath her and she sat up with a start, her head scraping the canvas of the tent above her as she tried to give Willow some space.

Willow couldn't find a voice to say the words with…it was as though she didn't have control over any part of herself any longer. Tears leaked unbidden from the corners of her eyes. Tara's thigh pressed firmly against her sex made her all too aware of the pleasure she could be experiencing…what she wanted to be feeling.

"Will?" Tara asked again, leaning down to stroked Willow's forehead, her voice hoarse with emotion.

"Please don't stop." It was a half-strangled cry torn from the back of Willow's throat.

"Please," Willow whispered urgently with another groan of desire interrupting her words. "It has been so long. I would not have so many layers of clothing separating us, I want to feel your skin move against mine – please!"

Willow sat up so Tara could peel her shirt down over her shoulders; at the same time her hands went to the throat of Tara's dress. As she fumbled urgently with the small buttons she had to keep shifting so Tara could remove the shirt. The garment was finally drawn down over each of her wrists and tossed aside, Tara then quickly dragged her vest up over her head even as Willow's fingers struggled again with the buttons. Almost impatiently, Tara shifted her hands so she could undo them herself. Willow flopped onto her back, lifting her hips off the ground so she could slide her pants down; she removed them completely with a well-timed kick which also crashed against the side of the tent.

Although it was awkward and cramped in the small space, eventually all their clothing and underclothes found the ground...every single piece except for one of Willow's socks. She was about to peel it off with a deft tug when she finally allowed herself to stare directly at Tara in her full nakedness. She found herself sitting with one hand on the toe of her sock and her jaw dropping steadily with each passing moment. As she allowed herself to drink in every bit of Tara's marble skin, the sock was gradually forgotten.

"Oh my god," Willow mumbled, hardly able to manage the words as her gaze lingered over Tara's perfectly formed breasts, from the ample curves to perfectly pink nipples. "I know I've seen it all before but oh my god – you are just so bloody perfect."

"Will," Tara whispered in a playfully gruff tone and silenced the redhead with a brief but intense kiss. "While you are exceptionally adorable I would appreciate you admiring my 'bloody perfection' at a later time. It has been a long time after all."

Tara smiled and moved forward, she kissed her then. It began as something soft, like silk... their tongues darting out tentatively as though they had never met before. However when Willow's hand moved up around to the back of Tara's neck, she drew her downwards insistently and the hesitation was once again gone. Their bodies melded together perfectly and Tara's thigh slid gently between Willow's legs as she caressed her shoulders and arms. Their lips grated together in movements that were coarse and yet soft. Their tongues danced in fierce competition, each trying to wrestle the other into submission. Even as they kissed, Willow kept thrusting upward with her hips, increasing the urgency with which she moved against Tara's thigh.

Tara's hand moved to Willow's breast, stroking it before breaking their kiss to move her head lower. Willow looked pleadingly at Tara until the blonde's mouth closed over the sensitive mound of flesh. She felt Tara's lips close over her nipple until she was sucking on it gently, rolling the tiny nub between her lips. She alternated between that and licking it with long, lazy strokes. Willow pressed her head back into the ground, letting the sensations wash over her as Tara worked her magic on her body. She listened with growing pleasure to the small sucking noises the blonde's mouth made, soon joined by her own soft moans. Tara switched breasts, giving each one the attention Willow craved.

While her mouth worked eagerly, Tara moved her hand down between their stomachs, over Willow's flat, hard belly and down to the top of the red curls that had been grinding against her thigh. She cupped Willow's entire mound and felt a small jolt run through Willow's body, closely followed by another, much larger as she slipped one finger inside Willow's folds. It wasn't long before she found Willow's clit, stroking it a few times it too budded beneath her touch.

Willow ran her hands through Tara's hair as she dipped and moved over her breasts. Incoherent moans that might have been words continued to issue from her throat. She felt a sudden warmth flow between her legs and her eyes squeezed shut tightly as she willed Tara to move even faster as long forgotten, almost unfamiliar and yet most welcome sensations took a hold of her body.

"I'm a virgin," Willow whispered in realisation, her fingers absently tracing Tara's neck as she stared at an undetermined point above her.

"Will…" Tara whispered softly, she looked up and slowed her thrusting movements without stopping completely, "Look at me?" Willow forced herself to lift her head and look into Tara's blue eyes. Tara brought her free hand up from Willow's breast to cup the back of her neck tightly, keeping their eyes locked together. "I can't begin to understand how this feels for you - to remember being with me and yet never having physically experienced it."

"I want to," Willow urged her fiercely. "Of course I want to…it's just…oh sorry, you're right, I should just bloody be quiet and let you do - oh…my…god!"

Willow was cut short as Tara slid two fingers up into her passage. She cried out slightly as she felt pain but it was replaced in an instant by the pleasant sensation of feeling Tara inside her. They were joined. Willow felt her eyes water from both the pain and pleasure but she didn't know why Tara's eyes were also watering. The pools of blue liquid were shining brightly, her mouth parted slightly as though in awe.

"Are you quite alright?" Willow asked quietly. She felt her flesh settle around Tara's fingers and marvelled at just how right it felt.

"That is supposed to be my question," Tara breathed, she leaned in close and whispered, "I love you Will," just as she withdrew her fingers slowly before thrusting upward again, this time a little faster.

Tara's movement rendered Willow unable to repeat the three words that meant so much to her, and yet she conveyed them through the touch of her fingers and body. Willow moved her hips instinctively, grinding herself against the base of Tara's hand. Tara responded by moving against her even faster, thrusting her fingers in and out in a steady rhythm. Willow felt as though she desperately wanted to close her eyes and thrash her head back against the ground but she kept her eyes on Tara. Even as they glazed over and she could barely see a thing through the haze she continued to stare at her lover. Tara thrust deep again... and then once more before Willow felt her release nearing until she let out a sharp cry and her orgasm surged through her body. Waves of pleasure spread out from between her legs, to her gut... all the way down to her toes. Willow groaned - she definitely couldn't even find words anymore, not even Tara's name.

It felt nothing like her dreams or even her experience in the mirror. It was real. As she came she kept her eyes on Tara's, in her haze she lost herself in the blue depths of those eyes. She saw a small smile cross Tara's lips as her body gradually stopped shaking.

Even as a sort of calm descended over her she did not allow herself to lie back down, instead she surged forward and found Tara's lips. She kept moving forward until she toppled Tara over backwards, effectively reversing their positions. In one deft move she wrapped her legs around the blonde's waist. She felt Tara's free hand wrap around her back and urge her to move. Willow complied until she was riding Tara's fingers, bringing herself to a second orgasm even so soon after the first.

Although she felt exhausted enough to collapse she could not stop. She released Tara from the grip of her legs and manoeuvred her body until she was lying atop her. With Tara lying beneath her, she sought out her breasts. Her mouth closed over first one and then the other, feeling Tara's soft skin with her tongue. One hand snaked her way down Tara's body, feeling gently for the heat between her legs.

"I haven't touched you yet and you're already wet," Willow whispered in awe as her fingers slid easily into Tara's moist folds.

"I did just spend the last ten minutes with your naked body beneath and above me. How could I not be?" Tara replied, arching her eyebrows.

Willow grinned wickedly as she reached out and roughly flicked Tara's clit only to be startled by the violent jolt that followed. Tara arched her back, grinding against Willow's hand as a shuddering moan escaped her lips.

"Will, inside!" Tara gasped impatiently, seizing the hand that teased her so cruelly and trying to guide Willow's fingers up into her soaking wet cunt. Willow gently pushed her aside and carried out Tara's wishes without assistance, thrusting upwards with her whole body behind the movement.

A few moments later Willow felt an incredible surge of emotion, as it was she who was fucking Tara. It was her fingers that were urging her to come**. **The tears that burned her eyes never fell but that did not render the moment any less emotional for her, she was finally able to be with the one she loved.

Tara felt her clawing fingers slip on Willow's sweat coated back so she embraced the bucking girl fully, wrapping her arms around her small but powerful body that was so intent on its one purpose. Willow's breathing was loud and hoarse in her ear and her own came in between moans that she was trying her utmost to stifle. As Willow's fingers dove deep into her cunt, her palm worked against her clit. She had been on the edge of orgasm from the first thrust and it was only through some amount of willpower that she kept herself from falling over the edge, a desire to prolong the experience of Willow moving within her after so many years apart.

She wanted the intimate contact to last and yet Willow's rapid movements were going to be her undoing. As she fucked her with her hand, Willow's mouth continued to move across every inch of her exposed upper body flesh, paying special attention to her already swollen nipples which she teased between her teeth and the fingers of her left hand. Tara gave up trying to restrain her release and thrust her hips insistently, both her hands moved to Willow's arse where her nails dug into the tender flesh. As Tara's breathing grew short and urgent, Willow met her gaze directly, managing to hold it even as she continued to intensify the pace of her movements. The connection in their gaze was intense, with Willow focused while Tara struggled to keep her senses from flying apart. As she came, she squeezed her thighs hard against Willow and dug in nails in sharply in a vain effort to keep from crying out. A strangled gasp was all that emerged as her flesh contracted around Willow's fingers but it conveyed far more than the loudest scream.

Tara closed her eyes, allowing the thudding in her ears to gradually die down and she became aware of the moist pool between her legs, Willow's fingers still nestled in her passage and the layer of dripping sweat that coated her body. It could have been minutes or hours later that she felt Willow gently remove her fingers and settle contentedly into the contours of her body.

The only sound in the tiny tent was the sound of their combined breathing, both hoarse and short. Tara lent down and deposited a tender kiss on Willow's forehead. Whatever was to happen on the morrow did not matter; she had just been reunited with Willow. Her hands continued to roam over Willow's body as though she could not get enough of the redhead's flesh. When she heard Willow's breathing slow to the point where it was almost normal, a wicked grin spread across her face. She rolled over atop Willow before swiftly moving down her body until her face was between Willow's legs; her mouth paused above her tender and moist sex.

Willow felt dreadfully wicked as she parted her legs for Tara to the point where her knees were pressed against the damp sides of the tent. She yelped suddenly at the darting touch of Tara's tongue against her overly engorged, already tortured clit. The second touch was a long, languid stroke that left her squirming and craving more. Tara was eager to oblige, lavishing attention on her clit in an exploratory, teasing manner as she remembered the precise spot and speed that really made Willow squirm.

Willow tried to prop herself up on her elbows as she discovered she loved the sight of Tara working between her legs but that lasted all of a minute before her head was thrown back against the ground behind her as she tossed about uncontrollably. Tara's tongue was driving her once again to the brink, easily threatening to push her right over the edge but with the skill to prolong release and take her beyond without falling off completely. Her hands clutched for something to grasp and she settled for fistfuls of Tara's hair. If she was hurting the blonde, it did not slow her down at all. If anything, her movements became more intense and focused.

Willow flung out her arms. Her fingertips trailed over the canvas of the tent, made moist by their combined urgent, rasping breaths. It was as though in that moisture that she could find each breath in physical form, each drawn out moan in which she said her lover's name.

"Tara…Tara!" Willow repeated without even realising that she was speaking it aloud once more. "Tara…Tar…"

The last was muffled as Tara rose up from beneath her legs in the midst of her release. Tara's musky lips closed over her own, effectively silencing her. Willow realised Tara had shut her up before she could disturb the others in their party and she gratefully gave herself over to the kiss, directing all the energy that she would have otherwise released in words, into caressing them, tasting herself as she did so. Tara replaced her tongue with several of her fingers, once again thrusting up inside her and causing Willow's spasms to lengthen, adding more of her juices to the already damp blankets that lay beneath them. Her arms were still flung above her head and she seized a handful of woollen blanket in an attempt to anchor herself to something physical but eventually she let it go and gave herself over completely. The only anchor she needed was Tara and it was to Tara's body that she held fiercely. Her nails raked Tara's back and she felt them pierce the skin, no doubt drawing blood.

A low moan escaped the kiss as her hips involuntarily jerked upwards several times with finality before they settled back against the covers with the rest of her sweat soaked, damp body. The kiss became slower, almost lazier but lost none of its emotion as Tara continued to stroke her stomach and thighs with tender fingers.

"This is all I want to do for the rest of my life," Willow announced quietly. "Vampire slaying be damned!"

"I know what you mean," Tara agreed as she stroked a clump of Willow's hair away from her eyes. "Will, whatever happens tomorrow…I want you to know-"

Willow pressed the tip of her finger to Tara's lips. "You don't need to say anything, you can tell me once all of this is over."

She saw that unspoken words would not leave Tara and she could see the fear in her eyes. Willow knew that there volumes that could be said between them…perhaps the words even needed to be said, but she could not bring herself to say or hear them. Instead she pressed her cheek to Tara's, in the silence that followed she was all too aware of her still throbbing cunt and the spread of wetness that chaffed against the back of her thighs. She was surprised to find that she did not feel cold...and more importantly, she did not feel spent. As Tara shifted slightly so she was no longer lying directly atop her, she seized her opportunity to reverse their positions again, flipping Tara over onto her back in one quick movement that almost brought the tent down around them as she pushed Tara against the sides. Willow drew Tara back towards the blankets and used her tongue to trace a through the trail of sweat that ran between her breasts, continuing downwards until her chin brushed against the soft hair that covered Tara's mound. Her mouth was watering before she spread her folds apart and drank deeply of the moisture that lay within. She felt Tara's hands tangle in her hair and press her down insistently in encouragement.

What would happen on the morrow was banished from Willow's thoughts. There was no point in thinking this through or stopping to question what they were doing. In the midst intense passion of their continued lovemaking, her contact with Tara and their combined rhythm was all that existed in the world. Willow found comfort in the knowledge that tomorrow would not come until they were finished.

* * *

The next morning dawned surprisingly clear and still. However, although bright, the winter sun failed to do much to warm the earth below. Faith and Myles hunched close to the fire as they prepared a simple porridge for breakfast. Lara was sitting just inside the tent she had shared with Faith, repeatedly stroking a whetstone along the length of a silver sabre. Myles searched the small clearing for Giles but he could see nothing of the old man, his tent was already down and packed. He then turned and looked over his shoulder towards Willow's tent but there was no movement whatsoever behind the firmly closed canvas flaps.

"I'm surprised the smell of food hasn't woken Willow," Myles commented.

"It's porridge," Faith replied in an acerbic tone that spoke more to her mood than Myles's innocent comment. "Even my porridge isn't that good."

Myles rose to his feet. "Well I might wake her all the same. It would be a shame if she had to eat it cold."

"Myles," Faith growled in a cautionary tone as the young man started towards the still silent tent. "I believe it would be best for you not to look in Willow's tent."

Myles stopped in his tracks and spun with a confused expression on his face. "Why ever not?"

"Because I've already looked in there," Faith admitted with a slight smirk. "And although it is a pretty sight I do not believe it is appropriate for your prying eyes. Just let them be for a short while longer."

"Them?" Myles appeared even more confused for a moment before realisation finally dawned. "Ohhhhh!"

The young man's cheeks were aflame as he returned to his spot by the fire. He all too gratefully accepted the bowl of porridge that Faith handed him and set about eating it as though it was the most necessary thing for him to do at that precise moment.

* * *

Dracula sneered at the infernal sunlight which bathed the mountains where the battlefield of Covasna lay. By his reckoning the Van Helsing woman's party which would the plateau by afternoon…full hours ahead of the time he and his vampires could possibly reach the battlefield. Although they had ridden hard by night and shadow, he had been unable to overtake them en route. It now came down to this day…and whether the fools would be able to destroy the skull before he could reach them. He regretted that it had come to such, but he could see no way of overcoming the inherent weakness of his kind. If they did manage to destroy the skull his only small consolation would lie in killing them all anyway…but it was small consolation indeed. Still, even the thought of killing Maclay was enough to bring a small smile to his face.

Dracula spun in his saddle and his smile broadened as he saw the host of vampires assembled at his back nestled within a cave that kept them all from the sun's deathly rays. Although there were mere dozens as opposed to the thousands which made up his army, it was a formidable sight and he was confident that their numbers would hold sway, despite the witch and warlock that guarded the skull. The other pathetic mortals he discounted altogether…save Willow Van Helsing. She was a mildly formidable foe …although he would kill her just the same. He glanced across to his right and saw Willow's surly face staring back at him.

His smile disappeared as he recognised the challenging expression on the other vampire's face. "It would be best if you did not speak, William."

A sharp grunt was all that issued forth from the insubordinate vampire but his eyes spoke volumes of the failure that was expected. Dracula lifted his chin and ignored William as he settled back in his saddle to watch the shadows move across the ground, biding his time until the sun disappeared and his time came.


	40. Return to Covasna

**Chapter Forty  
Return to Covasna**

"I cannot express in words how much I hate this place," Willow muttered almost under her breath. Despite her quiet words, the thin air up on the plateau carried her words to each of the five companions standing with her. None protested at her gloomy attitude or her lack of enthusiasm as they could all hazard a guess that standing once again on the battlefield where she died would pain her greatly. They could not fathom the extent of her pain, but they understood that it was there and were determined to support her as best they could.

She wore Willow Van Helsing's black armour atop her hunting clothes; after all, it was just as much her own now. She carried no weapons other than her silver cavalry sabre which was sheathed at her side. Her red hair was unbound and it fell down to her shoulders. Although her words had already made her feelings clear, her green eyes were veiled as they stared out over the plateau and surveyed the field of dead warriors.

Tara stood directly beside her, so close to that their shoulders were almost touching. The vampire was dressed as she ever was in her simple dark skirt, shirt, and her cloak. The hood was pushed back, off her head and settled about her shoulders, covered partially by her hair unbound and flowing around her expressionless face. She carried a simple sword in her hand and wore no scabbard to carry it. Her only response to Willow's muttered statement was to reach out and caress her arm lightly. Enough words had already passed between them.

Giles too wore his everyday clothes - a simple, very travel worn grey suit. He had made one concession for his own protection; he wore a breastplate over his jacket. At his waist he wore a silver sword. Even now, on the cusp of battle, he was frantically scrubbing at his glasses as though they had to be spotless for what was to come.

Faith was resplendently deadly in her scarlet red leather with her hair tightly bound at the nape of her neck. She carried a vast array of weapons about her person. There was a bandolier of firebombs across her chest, several stakes tucked into her belt, a crossbow strapped to her back and a sword at her waist - and those were no doubt just the visible ones. Faith checked each weapon in turn as though worried she had forgotten something. She continued to twitch nervously until Lara reached out and laid a reassuring hand on her wrist.

Lara had foregone her usual attire of skirts for a white shirt and a pair of leather pants. She wore a leather jacket over a well used breastplate. Her long hair was done in a single, tight braid which fell down her back. She carried a cross bow cradled in her arms, fully loaded and ready to fire at a second's notice. There was a quiver full of bolts on her back and a sword hanging at her waist. Her walking stick was nowhere in sight.

Only Myles had a slight smile on his face, as though he could not believe his luck in being able to stand on the battlefield, at this time, in the company of warlocks and warriors. He tossed his head, shaking his wayward mop of hair out of his eyes and checked his weapons as Faith had taught him. No doubt Faith had dictated what he would wear; he wore a sturdy, almost brand new breastplate with light, supple leather armour covering his arms and thighs. At his waist was strapped a sword and a bandolier of firebombs were strung across his chest. He also carried a fully loaded revolving crossbow capable of firing five bolts before it had to be reloaded. His nervousness was only evident in the piece of hard candy he sucked, the squelching noises carrying far enough to annoy the entire party…but no one begrudged him the small pleasure.

"Right, we are here," Faith announced helpfully. "What are we supposed to do?"

"Well, for a start we need to find Willow's better half," Giles announced brightly in an effort to muster a little levity to what was a very serious situation. "I do believe he's lying by the dead tree in the centre of the field."

Even as Willow shaded her eyes against the sun and peered into the distance to spot the tree, she heard Faith laugh lightly. She turned with a start and Myles snickered openly. He even went so far as to risk a surreptitious glance in her direction that made it clear that he and Faith were laughing at something other than Giles's poor attempt at a joke.

"What?" Willow snapped as she saw several suspicious glances cast her way. Despite the fact that she was clearly trying to feign innocence, her suddenly bright red cheeks indicated that she at least felt guilty about something.

"Myles is just a little surprised that you can walk today," Faith commented brazenly as the six of them began walking into the centre of the battlefield.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Willow snapped in reply, her cheeks flaming even redder still.

Faith stepped out of line to move next to Willow, having to leap over several bodies in her path as she did so. She threw an arm around Willow's neck and squeezed her tightly, almost knocking her to the ground. "We're just happy for you, Will. It was about time you lost your virginity, you were so tightly strung you were about to burst."

"Excuse me!" Willow spluttered, she dragged herself out of Faith's embrace and quickened her pace. However the move was less than smooth as her toe caught on a battle axe protruding from the ground. She stumbled and would have fallen had Faith not caught her by the collar of her shirt.

"Bloody hell," Willow continued as she straightened herself. "I certainly do not need enemies when I have a friend like you." However there was a small smile on her face as she said the words, and when she cast a quick glance towards Tara her smile broadened even further. Her cheeks flamed once again at the memory of their shared passion.

"We love you, Will…and the woman you've chosen to be yours," Faith said, she too turned to look in Tara's direction and gave the blonde a brief nod which was returned with an air of gratitude.

The jovial mood dissipated somewhat as the six of them neared the dead tree at the centre of the battlefield. By the time they drew up alongside it, they were once again silent. As she stared at the tree, Willow thought how eerie it was that it had taken on the appearance of the dead warriors who lay clustered around it. Its trunk was pitted and rotten and its few remaining branches looked as though they would fall to the earth at any moment. The bark was peeling off in great strips. The tree had been slowly poisoned by the evil that seeped into the soil from which it had grown. She stared at it a while longer if only to avoid staring at the particular skeleton that had drawn the attention of the rest of her party.

With a sigh, Willow finally moved towards the dark shape lying on the ground. For some reason, the others stepped out of her path until it was she who was left standing in front of Dracula's captain. The fallen body was not like the others on the plateau, where they were little more than twisted heaps of bone and rusted armour; the captain appeared to have been untouched by weather. The black armour he wore shone as if it had been polished the day before. Only his flesh was gone…and his entire head. Willow shivered as she stared at the headless corpse...knowing that a part of it was inside her own body. She steeled herself as though expecting the skull to awaken in some manner now that it was so near its body…but she felt nothing.

"Giles…can we please begin?" Willow asked in a small voice. She had to fight hard to keep her tone from trembling, especially now when she wanted to appear calm and unnerved by what was about to happen for her own sake as well as that of her friends - and Tara.

She turned to face Giles and saw him nod almost imperceptibly. Willow then looked at each of her friends in turn. Faith appeared unconcerned but Willow could see the way her hand gripped the hilt of her sword so tightly the flesh had turned white. Close at her side, Lara stood with her weight on her good leg. There was a hint of hidden pain on her face but Willow knew she would not ask for help from anyone. The smile was gone from Myles's face, replaced by an openly worried expression – he was not afraid to lay his feelings bare before his companions. His body twitched as though he was about to move forward to grasp her hand…or possibly even embrace her but he remained rooted to the spot. Willow understood. They all knew that the embraces should be saved for later…when it was all over.

Finally, she turned to Tara and found her lover practically standing toe to toe with her. Neither gave any thought to onlookers when they fell into an immediate embrace. Willow searched out and found Tara's lips and the two shared a brief but intense kiss. Their breath mingled as though through it they could share their strength and hope for the morrow. When the kiss ended, Willow was not ready to let go and she clung to Tara longer than was necessary.

However, even Tara's embrace could not shelter Willow from the sudden chill that descended over the plateau. She felt the darkness descend before she saw it. She drew back and glanced worriedly at Tara who was staring skyward, watching the weather change. Dark, almost lack storm clouds were rolling in, low to the horizon. Gradually the sun's rays disappeared from the plateau altogether.

When Tara lowered her chin Willow could see that her usually bright sapphire gaze was now a stormy, fathomless grey that mirrored the weather. "Tara?" she asked even though any question was redundant.

"I am afraid we have run out of time," Tara answered as the storm clouds completely obscured the sun and threw them all into semi-darkness even though it was still early afternoon.

"Son of a bitch!" Faith snapped in frustration, concisely summing up everyone's thoughts at the unfortunate change in the weather.

"Giles…for god's sake get started!" Willow ordered as she drew away from Tara altogether…but not before giving the blonde's hand one last squeeze.

Willow found herself unable to draw her eyes away from Tara even as she and the others moved to form a rather pathetic battle line of four facing in the direction of the path leading up to Covasna. Finally, with one last tight smile she wrenched her gaze away from her lover and stared down at the far less pleasant sight of the Captain's skeleton. She then glanced up towards Giles who had taken up position by his booted feet and he nodded tightly as he readied himself to begin.

Meanwhile Faith glanced to either side to see herself standing in a line with Tara, Myles and Lara. As she heard Giles's voice begin to speak in soft tones behind her, she felt tense and cold. The four of them passed the time in silent anticipation, checking over their weapons yet again, loading crossbows and tightening straps and bootlaces.

The time passed all too quickly. It almost seemed as though one moment their small group was alone on the plateau and the next, there were hundreds of dark shapes advancing towards them. Of course it did not happen in quite that fashion. The path leading to Covasna was narrow and the vampires were forced to ascend to the plateau in a thin trickle. However their numbers steadily increased and spread out like a disease at the edges of Covasna until it became clear that Dracula had been able to assemble a formidable host indeed in a short time.

"There's quite a few of them," said Myles worriedly.

He drew unimpressed looks from his companions for his unnecessary comment. They could all count, and they all knew that the odds were at least ten to one…suicidal odds. As the vast host of screaming vampires surged towards them, Faith, Lara and Myles tensed with their weapons poised. Myles and Lara with crossbows loaded and Faith with a lit firebomb in each hand. Suddenly the wave of vampires were halted in their tracks and left straining against some sort of invisible barrier that kept them from reaching their prey.

Faith quickly realised that the fuses on her firebombs were about to burn down and she tossed both aside before they could explode in her hands. "Great!" she muttered at the waste. She then turned to see that Tara was the source of the mysterious shield. The blonde vampire had her arm outstretched, palm towards the host of vampires as she whispered incomprehensible words. The strain of the task was already evident on her face with her eyes narrowed in pain and concentration. "I don't suppose you can keep that up until Giles is done de-skulling Will?" she asked hopefully.

It took some effort for Tara to shake her head and reply, "I will not be able to hold them back for long…minutes…at the most."

Faith nodded, wishing there was some way she could support Tara but she knew full well she would need all her strength for the battle that was to come. She looked towards the straining, snarling vampires and narrowed her eyes as she saw a tall figure walk to the front. Although she had never had the privilege of meeting him previously, Faith knew it to be none other than Dracula. She scoffed derisively; he wore the sort of armour better suited to the parade ground than the battlefield. His haughty expression indicated that he expected Tara to fade quickly. She turned back to Tara, the blonde's eyes were now closed and all colour had drained from her lips. Faith crossed to her side and seized the hand that Tara did not have stretched towards their foe.

"Can you use me?" Faith asked urgently.

"I would prefer…not to," Tara gasped.

Faith remembered all too well the horrible filth that had flooded her body when Tara used her to heel Willow at Covasna all those months ago but she brushed those thoughts aside. "I insist!"

Tara nodded slightly and Faith felt an immediate drain on her strength. Coupled with what was going out of her body, she felt a darkness with the intangible essence of tar pass from Tara's body to her own, radiating out through her body, into her limbs and head. Her body began to sag from exhaustion and after what felt like only a few seconds Tara released her hand. Faith opened her eyes and found herself kneeling on the ground taking in great gasps of air. She glanced up at Tara to find the strain on her face less evident. However she felt so weak she had to have Lara help her back to her feet, she sagged against her lover as she tried to stand on weak legs.

"That was brave…but exceptionally foolish," Lara growled. 'When they come at us, what are you going to do, spit at them?"

"I'll be fine," Faith replied grumpily, jerking her arm free of Lara's grip. "Besides, I would much rather have them over there for as long as possible…especially with the spell in progress." Faith turned to check on Willow and Giles and what she saw caused her mouth to open in shock. "Bloody hell…is that supposed to be happening?"

With Giles continuing to mutter his spell with his eyes tightly shut, Willow knelt at the side of the skeleton. Both her hands were frozen to the chest of the corpse and crawling slowly up her arms was an inky blackness. She was bowed over with her head lowered to the ground so Faith could not see whether she was in pain. As the darkness passed up over her hands and lower arms it left behind it something like armour covering Willow's akin. Where her hands had once been bare, they were now covered to the elbow with elaborate, gauntlets of black steel. The same happened as the substance passed up over her arms and chest, radiating outwards as it created a perfectly moulded breastplate completely different to the one Willow had already been wearing. All this occurred in just a few seconds.

Faith realised what was happening, at the same time as Willow changed. The skeleton she held disappeared…it was being absorbed into her body. The armour that now covered half of her body was that of Dracula's captain.

"No, I don't think that's supposed to happen," Lara commented in tight voice.

Suddenly Willow's head snapped back to reveal a pained expression on her twisted features. Her mouth was open as though she was trying to cry out. Eventually a low moan tore from her throat before it became a loud scream that morphed into a name. "Tara!"

As soon as she heard Willow cry her name Tara lost all semblance of control over the spell in her mind and on her lips. The shield holding the vampires at bay wavered for an instant before disappearing entirely with a brief flash.

As Tara turned her attention to Willow, Faith, Myles and Lara gasped collectively as dozens of vampires were released and began streaming towards them. Faith immediately lit two firebombs while Lara and Myles lifted their crossbows and aimed.

Willow's entire body felt cold beneath the strange, black armour that now encased her entire body. With the pain slowly diminishing she looked up to find Giles kneeling in front of her. The warlock looked as though he was about to fall over but for some strange reason she did not feel compelled to call to him and see if he was okay. Oddly calm, she stood and surveyed the battlefield in which she stood. Tara was running towards her with a terrified expression that was at odds with her usually stoic countenance but she couldn't muster the emotion to care about her either. Instead she stared down at her body and clenched her armoured first, even in just that simple movement she felt powerful. She reached for the sword strapped to her waist and drew it with a steely hiss. With merely a glance, she strode past Tara and the rest of her friends, straight towards the oncoming vampire army. As they came closer she felt the corners of her lips tug upwards in a broad grin of anticipation.

There was a resounding crash as Willow slammed into the first wave of vampires, rendering several headless with one stroke of her sword. She continued to cut a wide swath through the oncoming vampires, in less than a minute, at least a dozen had fallen before her blade. Just as her blood was boiling with the rage of combat, Willow suddenly found herself without a single foe standing in front of her; rather, the vampires had created a ring around her. None would step closer even as she taunted them with swings of her sword. However, a few moments later the circle parted slightly to admit a single combatant to enter. Willow once again found her smile as she saw it was none other than Dracula himself.

"I believe you left our last duel a little prematurely," Dracula announced, trying to circle her slowly.

Willow refused to face him as he walked around her. She kept staring straight ahead with a mocking grin on her face. "This duel will end a little differently, I promise you."

"It could all end now if you were to hand over the skull," Dracula suggested.

Willow laughed lightly as she finally turned to face him as she uttered her revelation, "Why don't you come and take it!" She spread her arms out wide as though offering herself, "It's standing right in front of you!"

Dracula's face fell slightly before he was able to regain his composure and refit his mask of marble calm. "That's impossible," he whispered.

Willow lifted her sword, pointing it directly at him. "If it's impossible then leave now! Be gone! You and your horde of filth and scum!"

With that she sprang forward with a guttural yell, Dracula barely had time to lift his sword in defence before she was on him. Their blades met and stuck fast with both straining to press forward, eyes locked in a brutal stare.

Across the battlefield, Willow's companions were still fighting for their lives. Lara stood, reloading and firing her crossbow as fast as possible. In a broad circle around her she had created a miniature dust cloud from the vampires she had destroyed. Faith and Myles had unleashed a deadly hail of firebombs, setting several vampires alight almost immediately. A side effect had been the creation of a wall of fire directly in front of them that the vampires could not cross. They were forced to go around, effectively splitting their force in half. With her supply of firebombs exhausted, Faith drew a stake in each hand and engaged the vampires in hand to hand combat. The first several went down quickly as she cut through their attacks with superior speed and skill. However, in the midst of the chaos she came face to face with an incredibly pale vampire, grinning at her from beneath his thatch of pointy blonde hair. He had a thin sword in one hand and a long knife in the other. Faith paused indecisively as she weighed up her options, trying to assess what she was up against before she made her attack. She tossed both stakes aside and drew her sword in a quick motion.

"Hello there, sweet thing," he drawled, twirling his knife on the tips of his fingers. "Name's William the Bloody and you would be?"

"Your slayer," Faith replied abruptly.

She darted forward, having decided that he also would possess a certain speed in the way he fought. His first move proved her correct as he stepped nimbly aside and brushed her blade off with his own. Faith was forced to step backwards as he followed up with a thrust with his knife. The point of the blade scraped against her red leather corset before she moved out of range. She tried to take advantage of his off-balanced pose but he recovered too quickly, stepping away from her back-handed swing. They traded several more blows before Faith felt her earlier exhaustion begin to set in once more. She knew with a certainty that she did not tire so easily and yet the drain on her strength reserves had left her dangerously weak. Faith could only hope that it did not show in her movements or on her face. However it was too late, somehow he knew she was tired. Whether it was the tightness of her jaw or her increasingly slow sword play, he knew. A series of almost perfect strokes drove her to her knees and she was forced to suffer the indignity of having her sword dashed from her grip. He placed the heel of his boot on her chest and thrust, shoving her backwards. Faith hit the ground with a dull thud and found herself unable to move.

"Bye, bye, poppet," William said with immense satisfaction, lifting the sword in preparation to plunge it into Faith's chest.

Faith met his cruel, gloating gaze with a brave refusal to utter a single plea for mercy. It would be an honourable death on the battlefield…although she did have to suppress an iota of regret that it was such a foul, unworthy vampire who had finally bested her. She was prepared for the end when a surprised look suddenly passed across the face of the vampire standing above her. There was a pause as he simply stared at Faith without bringing his sword down. Then his body exploded to reveal Myles Cavendish with the stake he had just thrust through his back still clutched in his hand. He grinned momentarily and then reached down to help Faith to her feet. The brunette's grip was so firm she almost toppled the young man over as she rose.

"Thanks, Myles," Faith nodded, although she barely had time to recover before several more vampires surrounded them both. "How about I pay you back for that right now?"

"That would be nice!" Myles yelped as the nearest vampire slashed in his direction with a wickedly large knife.

Throughout her friend's struggle with the lesser vampires, Willow continued to fight Dracula. It was no mere replay of the fight in the cemetery but something new and terrifyingly fierce. Whereas earlier it had been Dracula, lord of vampires against Willow Van Helsing, they now fought as equals – both powerful in their own right. They used a massive space for their combat. As they danced across the battlefield, other vampires hastily cleared a path without making the slightest move to interfere.

Willow felt none of the fear or exhaustion that had so hampered her during their last meeting, she felt nothing but exhilaration. Each time their swords clashed she felt another surge of excitement through her own body, and one of fear through his. Each strike or thrust that he made, she blocked or countered with a superior one of her own. Many times she ducked inside his guard and the tip of her sword sliced into his clothing or even his dead flesh.

"We do not need to fight, Willow Van Helsing," Dracula sounded almost as though he were pleading. "Take your treacherous lover's place at my side and together we can raise my army!"

"You seek to talk only because you know I am stronger!" Willow snorted derisively as she surged forward and their blades rang together once more.

"Yes…you are stronger than I," Dracula admitted freely as he stumbled backwards. "But we are also the same. You feel the power do you not?"

Willow did not reply to Dracula but in her mind she could not deny that she did feel an immensely dark power coursing through her every vein. Although she did not fully understand what had happened to her to interrupt Giles's spell, she knew that somehow the captain's essence that had remained at Covasna had been absorbed by the skull inside her body. It terrified and excited her to realise that she herself was quite possibly becoming Dracula's captain. A part of her knew that she had to end all of this before she was corrupted to the point where she could fight against it no longer. She seized upon the image of Tara in her mind, faint though it was, and pressed forward another attack. Her sword whirled in a blur of motion that no human could have hoped to withstand. Dracula was pressed backwards, faltering with each step to the point where his expression became one of panic. Suddenly he found the sword he held stripped from his fingers; it flew up into the air before Willow's caught it in her iron fist.

Weaponless, he sank to his knees in the dirt in front of her as though in surrender. However the haughty defiance on his face said otherwise. With a sharp tug at her gut, Willow knew he expected her not to kill him…but to join with him.

"Your days of cruelty are finally at an end, Vlad," Willow whispered, her voice grating like gravel against her throat.

"You will not be able to resist it, Willow Van Helsing!" Dracula roared even as he was forced to his knees. "You will feel the call to lead the army and everything that you have fought to stop will come to pass! It will be you who lays waste to the nations at the head of my army! You will be responsible for the slaughter of millions!"

As his words rang inside her head Willow brought up both swords and with a violent scissor-like motion she severed Dracula's head. The head, complete with its long, lustrous black hair, flew through the air for several metres before it exploded. Still kneeling in front of her, the body followed suit just a split second later. Willow lifted both her swords in the air and let out a primeval roar that sounded out around the battlefield, letting all know what had just come to pass. Dracula had been destroyed.

The remaining vampires uttered a collective groan upon the destruction of their lord and master; many turned and ran almost immediately. Faith glanced up from dispatching her latest foe and felt a wild surge of hope as she saw Willow standing alone in the cloud of dust that had once been Dracula. She saw the fleeing vampires and even dared to hope that all of the remaining vampires would flee. However at least a dozen seemed either determined to avenge their leader's death or were too stupid to realise that he had been destroyed. Faith only had time to sigh with exhaustion before facing her next opponent. She gave the short, tubby vampire a look of contempt and ducked beneath his swing, feeling the blade of his sword swish past only a hairsbreadth from her scalp. She then brought the stake in her fist up, through his guard and straight into his chest. When she turned to search out her next target she saw Myles lying on the ground several metres away from her and Lara. He was desperately trying to block the sword of a vampire standing above him, intent on ending the young man's life. With a grunt of effort, she forced herself to sprint the short distance, tackling the vampire around the waist just as he was about to skewer Myles. As the vampire thudded to the ground, she landed atop him and drove her stake downwards. When his body exploded out from beneath her, she hit the ground. Faith lay on her stomach with vampire dust clogging her mouth and nose. She snorted and coughed in an effort to clear her airways before dragging her exhausted body back to her feet. Myles was also picking himself up, fumbling in the dust for his sword.

"Bloody hell, Myles!" Faith snapped seizing the young man by his collar and dragging him out from beneath the reach of the two vampires. "I told you to stay in line!"

"What line?" Myles yelped, glancing at Lara who was nearing the end of her supply of silver bolts and then back to Faith. "There are three of us!" In the melee he could not see Tara or Giles and Willow appeared to be a law unto herself with no thought for the safety of her friends as she chased down fleeing vampires.

"Well, it's better than no line at all!" Faith fired back as she narrowly avoided a swing aimed at her chest. She spun as the sword brushed past, splitting the topmost layer of her red leather. As she turned around to face her attackers, the second vampire brought his mace crashing downwards. It smashed into her hand and sheared her stake in half. She was left with her bloody hand holding a rather pathetic looking splinter.

Before either vampire could take advantage of her almost weaponless state, Myles leapt forward one more and parried a blow that was aimed at Faith's neck. His next thrust went straight into the vampire's heart only seconds before he was slammed aside by the flat of the remaining vampire's sword striking his forehead. Dazed, he dropped his own sword and fell to the ground.

Before the vampire could kill Myles, Faith stepped over his fallen body in a protective stance. She shoved him away from Myles with several powerful jabs to his chin and finally a backhanded blow which sent him spinning to the ground. He had only managed to struggle to his knees when Faith rammed the remaining splinter of her stake through his chest. However, no sooner had he exploded in a cloud of dust she felt an insistent tug at her ankle. She tried to shake off whatever it was only to have what felt like a vice like grip tighten around her lower leg. When she looked down she was staggered to see bony fingers digging into her leg.

"Holy hell!" she gasped, almost immediately realising that the fingers were very much attached to an equally fleshless body.

One of the long dead warriors was rising from its slumber in a chilling fashion that left her uncharacteristically frozen in a state of shock. She watched as its torso rose from the ground first, before almost dragging the skull up with it. The skull was tilted backwards at an impossible angle before it slowly righted itself. Faith found herself staring into empty eye sockets but she felt a chill go down her spine as she knew it was looking at her, it saw her and the terror in her eyes. She was finally jarred back into action when the hand that was not digging into her leg began to rise, clutched in its fingers was a well rusted but lethally spiked mace. Without wasting another second staring at the skeleton warrior, Faith drew her sabre with a steely hiss and brought it crashing down on the arm holding her. The bones splintered with a sickening crack and its grip went slack. Faith then brought her booted foot crashing down on the gape-eyed skull, smashing it instantly and grinding the fragments into the earth.

In a surge of anger, Faith stabbed her toe at the broken bones and sent fragments of skull flying; she looked up only to have her fears confirmed. In every direction she turned, the warriors were rising from their slumber in various states of dismemberment and decay. Even in the midst of the horror, Faith spied one positive aspect. The warriors in their skeletal state obviously made no distinction between human and vampire, they attacked both.

The time for standing and staring was over, Faith was forced to dash forward and extricate Myles from a headlock before a rusty dagger could be drawn across his throat. Although the young man's face had gone a deathly white; he swallowed awkwardly and adjusted his grip on his sword in a determined fashion.

"We have to stay together!" Faith barked, she seized Myles by his shirt sleeve and dragged him back towards the dead tree at the centre of the battlefield where she could see Lara reloading her crossbow. Seconds later the museum director sent the bolt flying into the chest of a vampire. "Lara! We've got a slightly bigger problem!"

Faith drew up beside her lover and shoved Myles behind them both. Lara could hardly failed to miss the bodies on the ground stirring, even though few had managed to drag themselves fully upright as of yet. All across the battlefield, thousands of corpses were coming to life, rising up out of the dust in which they had lain for hundreds of years. Slowly they pulled their shattered and mangled limbs together, bony limbs reached out for long rusted weapons. Faith hardly needed to weigh up the situation, if even a few hundred of the warriors arose, their little band would be overrun in a matter of minutes.

"Why the hell is this happening?" Lara turned to Faith with a desperate expression in her eyes. "Dracula is dead. He did not have time to mutter a word of the resurrection spell, this should not be happening!"

Faith held Lara's gaze for a moment. She saw behind the grime, fresh blood and wildly askew hair, the face of the woman she loved. If today was going to be her last, then she could think of no other person she would rather have at her side. She saw Lara recognise the expression in her eyes and she reached out. The two women clasped their bloody hands together for a moment, saying everything that needed to be said in that one touch. Their hands fell apart and Lara dashed her crossbow and empty quiver to the ground to draw her sword.

"Myles, be a gentleman and hand me that mace," Lara said, indicating a rusty weapon lying close to the outstretched hand of a dead warrior.

As Myles wrapped his fingers around its shaft, the bony fingers of its former owner tried to claim in back. They seized his wrist in a vice like grip as he yelped and tried to yank his hand away. It went limp only when Lara brought her sword crashing down on the skeleton's forearm, shattering its bones. Breathing a sigh of relief, Myles snatched up the mace and handed it quickly to her. She accepted it with a grin of thanks and, with sword and mace in hand, turned to hack open the skull of a warrior struggling to rise from the earth.

"I know exactly why this is happening," Faith whispered, she felt sick to her stomach as she slowly turned around and saw Willow - or rather the shape that had once been Willow. The armour had now completely consumed her body, melding to her legs, arms, chest in a gross exaggeration of a human body. Only Willow's head was bare…but it was so obviously still the face of her friend that Faith was able to feel that there was hope yet. Her red hair had turned black, as had her eyes…and yet everything else was still Willow. With one last glance over her shoulder at Lara and Myles, Faith surged across the space that separated her from Willow. As she ran she caught sight of Tara and Giles, the blonde vampire desperately trying to revive the stricken warlock while at the same time desperately attempting to fight off the new threat in the form of Dracula's army. She could see the vampire's strength was flagging but it was all she could do to continue towards Willow. Faith felt another surge of hope when she saw Willow reached out and wrap her gauntleted fist around the face of one of the warriors. She smashed the skull by merely closing her armoured fist.

"Will!" Faith ran towards her friend, knowing that they would stand a far greater chance of survival if she could keep their small band together.

She approached Willow and in one awful moment realised that the expression on her face was not one of welcome. Willow's sword flashed, catching her off guard. Faith was knocked off her feet even as she blocked the blow. As she crashed to the earth she lay in a state of pain and shock, a part of her expected Willow to finish the job…and a part of her expected Willow to help her to her feet. Neither happened as Faith tried groggily to pick herself up. She was forced to swat a blurry skeleton warrior away with the flat of her sword and her shoulder protested with the movement. With some element of relief she saw its skull toppled from its shoulders and she was able to struggle back to her feet.

"What the hell!" Faith demanded of her friend, seeing Willow still standing in front of her.

Willow's response was to advance forward with her sword raised towards Faith as though about to attack. Faith couldn't believe that it was about to happen until, at the last moment, she was actually force to block Willow as she attacked her. From there, Faith was in a desperate struggle for her life, fighting against a friend who appeared to be on a different plain of reality altogether.

In the awful moments that had passed since Willow's transformation, Tara had been operating in a mechanical fashion. Even as she sent fireballs smashing into the chests of vampires in all directions, she could not get Willow's blank expression out of her mind. It was an expression that had been devoid of emotion and recognition as she walked past her and straight towards the oncoming vampires. Although Tara had lost sight of Willow in the melee, she knew that she was out there laying waste to everything in her path.

She fought her way back to the tree and found Giles crumpled over next to what remained of the Captain's skeleton, just a few rags and a deep impression in the earth. His face was blanched white and his breathing was shallow. Tara threw herself down next to the warlock and lightly shook him by the shoulders. There was no response. She heard a rasping of bones behind her and barely had time to glance up before something flashed at her and she was sent crashing backwards, she hit the earth with a dull thud and felt a surge of heat radiating out from her forehead. A few moments later her vision was obscured by freely flowing blood. She lashed out at the warrior that stood above her, clutching a bloody sword in its hand. A spell of air sent him flying into the tree where the force of impact shattered what remained of the tree's trunk, bringing it crashing to the earth.

Tara desperately turned her attention back to the unconscious man lying in front of her. "Giles, Giles, please!"

She watched as first Giles's lips moved slightly, then gradually his eyes opened. He blinked several times but when lifted a hand to his face to search for his glasses they were not there.

"Giles…Giles!" Tara continued to shake him gently even as he regained consciousness. "The army is waking because of Willow. You have to perform the destruction spell before it's too late!" She then helped Giles into a sitting position whether he was ready for it or not. "I'm sorry your glasses were broken…"

Giles turned to look at her, saw the desperation on her face and then determinedly tried to stand under his own power. "I don't need them for this anyway…where is Willow?" he gasped as he heaved himself to his feet by leaning heavily on Tara's shoulder.

He saw the look on Tara's face when she indicated a direction and he immediately knew that it something was terribly amiss. When he turned he thought he saw Faith fighting some monstrous vampire…but he quickly saw he was wrong. It was not a vampire at all but Willow, her body completely consumed by the armour of Dracula's captain. She fought Faith with an almost completely blank expression, as though she had no idea that the woman desperately trying to avoid ending up on the point of her sword was in fact her dearest friend. Both he and Tara gasped as Willow slipped inside Faith's sword thrust and delivered a powerful backhanded blow. Faith barely had enough time to regain her balance to try and block the blow. Although she got her sword up in time, Willow's strike was too powerful; it knocked her sword aside and slashed across her shoulder. Faith's sword clattered to the ground only a second before she toppled to the ground.

"The spell, Giles!" Tara yelled, already surging forward to where Willow was poised over Faith, about to finish her off. "The spell!"

Tara could not keep her attention focused on Giles any longer. She had to trust that the warlock was still capable of performing the magic necessary despite his exhaustion. She only had eyes for Willow.

Before Willow could plunge the sword downwards into Faith's body, Tara knocked her sword arm aside. Willow immediately let out a grunt of frustration and made instead to swing at Tara. Placing herself directly in the path of the sword, Tara stepped close enough to Willow to be able to reach out and seize her chin in a firm grip. She forced Willow to stare at her, to meet her gaze directly. Even as Willow's sword arm slackened and she did not follow through on the swing that would have buried her sword in her waist, she did not allow her gaze to waver.

She searched Willow's face, despite the armour cocooning her body, it was still very much Willow. There was more than a hint of recognition in her eyes even though the emerald green that Tara loved appeared to have been leeched from them completely, leaving two soulless white orbs with pricks of black at the centre.

"Willow keep looking at me!" Tara demanded harshly, knowing that if she faltered Willow would once again try to strike her down. Behind her she heard Giles begin to utter the destruction spell; she felt a surge of power through her own body as he summoned the very power inherent in the battlefield. It was a filthy evil force and yet it was stronger than she could have imagined. It flowed up from the very earth beneath their feet, flooding their bodies with a taint so strong it made Tara want to retch. She saw Willow's entire face slacken and for a moment flecks of green returned to her gaze. "Will…please stay with me!"

"I am here," Willow's voice sounded like a thousand booming voices and yet beneath them all Tara could still distinguish the small one that belonged to her lover.

Even though Willow knew full well that in reality she was still standing on the battlefield, she felt as though she was somewhere else altogether. A place far removed from the chaos going on around them with the warriors rising from their slumber, it was a place where she and Tara existed alone. She tried to draw Tara further into that place where she knew they would both be safe but Tara's fingers immediately dug even more fiercely into her chin and her face contorted as though she were struggling against something.

"Willow! For god's sake stay with me…feel your feet on the ground, feel my touch!" Tara insisted.

"But…" Willow tried to open her mouth but no sound emerged other than a tortured groan. Instead she tried to speak through her mind and she found the words flowed more easily. _We should leave!_ she thought desperately. _We should leave and go somewhere safe…Tara please come with me…away from all of this pain!_

_You don't understand, Will_. Tara's voice replied in her mind but her voice was distant, as though she was being drawn away_. If you leave then the demon inside you will win…you'll be trapped within your own body_. Tara's voice faded until Willow had to strain to hear her. _Your…friends will die…fail._

At first Willow didn't believe Tara's words, she convinced herself that it was something else speaking with Tara's voice. However she saw Tara standing in front of her, she felt her fingernails digging painfully into the flesh of her face and she knew she spoke the truth. Although she had no idea how to do it, Willow concentrated all her energy on the physical reality of her existence, on her feet standing on the ground. With a gut wrenching scream she forced herself back to reality…as painful as it was. She sagged almost immediately, nearly crushed by the weight of the pain that coursed through her body. Tara was forced to use both arms to keep her upright, effectively cradling Willow against her body.

"It…hurts!" Willow whispered, gasping for breath. "Please tell Giles to stop!"

Even though she was in no pain, Tara let out a cry of her own in tandem with Willow's. She felt her lover's pain and it was killing her to be able to do nothing to relieve it.

"I can't Will…" Tara replied.

As Giles's words intensified in her ears, Willow felt as though she were being ripped apart. There were points of pain throughout her entire body, as though something inside her was straining to get out.

Willow glanced down at the skin on the back of her hand and her eyes widened in horror as several small wounds were violently torn in her skin as something was expelled from within. A split second later Tara released her with a cry and she was thrown against the ground, also writhing in pain as though the same tearing sensation occurred throughout her body. Giles's words and Tara's screams were all she could hear in her ears…both built to a crescendo even as she tried to force her eyes to open. She had to wipe something moist and sticky from her eyes before she could see and she quickly realised it was blood from the tiny wounds covering her face. Through her blood-clouded gaze she saw a whirling vortex hovering between her and Tara, and Giles. At the centre of it swirled the now fully intact skull and something else Willow could not recognise, a dark shape with a life of its own that seemed to be struggling against the sides of the vortex in an effort to escape.

She saw Giles, his face dripping with sweat. He was gradually forced to one knee beneath the weight of the magicks he now wielded but somehow the words continued to leave his lips. Willow tried to lift her body, to reach out to him to offer some sort of strength but it was all she could do to keep her eyes open. His voice built to a crescendo and then abruptly cut off.

In the almost deathly silence that followed, Willow could hear her own hoarse breathing and the blood pounding in her head. The skull and the dark form continued to revolve in the vortex. For the first time now she was able to make out something in the shadows of the form, something that looked like a disturbing approximation of Tara's features. However her attention was drawn to Giles who was now staring at her with a blank expression on his face, he remained kneeling for a second more before he toppled forward, face first into the ground.

Suddenly the vortex imploded before her eyes, the skull and the dark Tara-form were crushed in on themselves in an instant. For a brief moment, the entire vortex was a mere dot in the sky. Then, without warning, it exploded outwards with a deafening boom.

Willow was crushed flat against the earth as though she had been hit with a train. Everything went dark and she finally found a welcome relief from the pain.

* * *

"For heaven's sake Rosenberg, wake up!"

With the insistent voice shouting at her repeatedly, Willow forced her eyes to open, if only to see who it was long enough to tell them to shut up and let her sleep. Her eyes stung painfully as she prised the lids open and she steeled herself to be blinded by light. However there was only the dim, yellow light of dusk as it was chased from the sky above her and she found she could open them easily. Her view of the sky was then obscured by the thoroughly dishevelled and dirty visage of Faith Winters. As her vision came into full focus she decided, not unkindly, her that friend had definitely seen better days. Her hair had all but escaped its restraints and hung lank and grimy about her face. There was more dried blood and dirt on her face than there was skin showing. Fresh blood still seeped from a nasty wound slashed her collarbone and down to her left shoulder that had been forceful enough to tear her leather armour. Willow tried to sit but found not an ounce of strength in her muscles.

"Welcome back," Faith said gently.

Faith reached out and brushed a clump of her hair from her eyes. If anything, Willow thought her friend's movements were a little tentative, as though she were afraid to reach out and touch her for some reason. Willow found she was able to feel all of her limbs if not move them and she was gratified to realise that they were all still attached and appeared to function, albeit not very well. Her right hand twitched and she felt her fingers relax from their hold on a weapon of sorts. With a little effort she found herself able to lift the hand from the ground. When she lifted the hand within her field of vision she was shocked to find her skin covered in black scales that were steadily flaking off in large chunks. Willow yelped out of shock and found a sudden burst of strength, enough to rise into a sitting position and begin scraping frantically at the scales. She soon discovered that they fell off easily to reveal her normal, unblemished skin lying beneath.

"What the hell happened?" Willow sagged slightly after her initial display of strength but she was in no danger of falling when Faith moved quickly to support her with her uninjured arm. She scanned the battlefield in front of her and saw that nothing much had changed from the moment she and her companions had stepped out onto it the previous afternoon. Piles of rusty armour lay heaped at irregular intervals…only now they were without the bones that had previously given them shape.

"I do believe our bony friends turned to dust," Faith commented absently.

Gradually everything began to come back to Willow. She remembered the shock of the armour melding to her body and their desperate fight against Dracula's hoard of vampires. Willow let out a small breath as she remembered seeing his head roll from his shoulders and the look on his face before his body exploded. Then it was all a blur, the interminable cold she had felt…and the increasingly numbness of both feeling and emotion as she became detached from her companions around her.

Willow saw Lara squatting over something in distance, her dark hair hanging unbound and her head lowered. Willow's look became increasingly furtive when she realised she could not find her other companions. "Where is everyone?"

"It was a good fight." It was all Faith could whisper, the brunette's head dropped too and Willow thought she looked as though she were about to collapse.

Willow's eyes opened wide as she remembered the violent explosion of light and shadow that had been the last thing she remembered. Tara had been lying directly beside her after struggling so desperately to keep her focused on reality. She remembered the shadowy form that had been destroyed in the vortex along with the skull…she remembered Tara's face twisted in immense pain.

"Tara?" Willow gasped as she stared intently at Faith.

With some effort, the brunette nodded over her shoulder with an expression that was supposed to be a smile…but she could not even force one onto her tired features. "I need to see to the others, will you be alright?"

Even as Willow nodded hastily, she was already turning her entire body in the direction Faith had indicated. She felt Faith leave her side and began an awkward crawl towards a dark outline that lay on the ground several metres from her. Her movements became increasingly frantic the closer she came. It was undoubtedly Tara; the vampire was lying on her back with her blonde hair fanning out around her. Her eyes were closed and her face peaceful…as though in death.

"No, no, no," Willow whispered, her voice choking with tears. "Tara please open your eyes, dearest!"

She scrambled across the ground on her knees and elbows, ignoring rusty weapons and scraps of armour until she was practically lying atop Tara. Willow was close enough to see the gentle but evident rise and fall of Tara's chest. She let out an undignified snort of relief which quickly became a coughing fit that added snot to the mix of undesirable substances clinging to her face. Her grimy fingers reached out to stroke Tara's skin, she was surprised to find it unblemished and clean despite the chaos of battle Tara had just lived through. However it was a small thought that paled in comparison to the knowledge that Tara was alive.

The blonde's eyelashes began to flutter at Willow's touch. When the cloudy but still brilliant eyes finally looked up her, she allowed herself a grin of relief. Tara's mouth worked but she said nothing at first, Willow continued to stroke her cheek and it was now, with the knowledge that Tara was going to be alright, that she realised several things about the blonde were decidedly odd. Her hair, which had once been pale verging on white, was now a luscious golden colour. It eerily reminded Willow of the colour it had been during Tara's lifetime. There were also two spots on colour on Tara's normally marble white cheeks. Willow gently lent down to deposit a kiss on Tara's nose and the colour intensified. Finally, Tara smiled…and Willow could see no trace of the fangs which so physically marked her as a vampire.

"Tara?" Willow whispered in awe, trying to fathom what had possibly happened to bring about such changes. "I know asking how you feel is a ridiculous question…but how do you feel?"

Tara felt the cold earth at her back, her entire body felt as though it had been thrown from a great height but all of this seemed insignificant next to the fact that it was Willow's gorgeous visage that filled her vision. Tara turned her head slightly, apart from Willow's face there was absolutely nothing she recognised.

"What on earth is happening?" Tara whispered, experiencing the decidedly unpleasant sensation of waking up with absolutely no knowledge of where she was or how she had got there. She propped herself up on her elbows and then felt a strong grip assisting her. She looked around wildly for a few moments, seeing nothing but horror in every direction until her eyes fell upon Willow once again.

"Oh god, Will!" Tara cried as she threw herself forward into Willow's waiting arms. She found the very breath being squeezed from her lungs in return but she did not care, she merely tightened her grasp and did the same to Willow. As a result, when she drew back slightly after several minutes, Willow's face was flushed pink from a lack of oxygen and she was sure her own was just the same. Tara ran her fingers over Willow's decidedly dirty face and down over the twisted and torn clothing she wore. "Will…my god, whatever happened to you? Whatever happened to us? Where are we?"

Tara had so many questions that were tumbling over one another and yet Willow's mouth worked soundlessly as she was unable to answer even one of them. She knew exactly what had happened and where they were, but it was the fact that Tara did not, that left her speechless. It was almost as though…

"Willow…w-where are we?" Tara repeated in Willow's silence, her huge eyes pleading.

Tara had been returned to the person she once was.

"I am so sorry for everything I did," Tara continued in a whisper, oblivious to the expression of realisation dawning on Willow's face.

As she spoke the words she of course had no way of knowing that Willow would subconsciously interpret her apology as having a far wider reach than she herself intended. She did not know that her last hundred years had been spent as a vampire and that during that time she had both betrayed and murdered her love. Willow was shaking as she reached out towards Tara once again.

Oblivious to the whirl of thoughts cascading through Willow's head, Tara allowed the redhead to draw her even closer. She tilted her head so her lips lay pressed against Willow's ear. "Please tell me it is not too late to change my mind and choose you over Edward Walsh?"

Willow felt fresh tears sear her eyes. She drew away from Tara in one swift movement and stood on her unsteady legs. Everything came down to that choice…the choice Tara had had to make. It had determined the course of their lives…it had determined that they would be end up at Covasna in the aftermath of the final battle. Willow saw Faith and Lara embracing over a fallen form she recognised to be Giles. She searched but could see no sign of Myles in the debris and it was all she could do to hope the young man was crouched in a hole somewhere, shaken but alive.

"Myles?" she had intended it as a shout, but it came out a mere whisper that hardly carried past her and Tara.

"W-Willow?" Tara probed in a worried voice. She too had risen to her feet. With one hand she reached out and brushed against Willow's arm in an effort to attract her lover's attention once again.

Willow's shirt was torn, Tara touched her bare skin. At the touch, the stricken redhead wrenched her gaze away from her friends and back to Tara. She could do nothing but stare for a moment. It was not the Tara who had walked onto the battlefield…it was the Tara who had walked out on her almost one hundred years earlier. She finally answered her question,

"No," Willow whispered, shaking her head slowly as she said it. "Tara…it is not too late." _I would not consider a hundred years too late. Not now, not after everything we've been through._

Tara held out her arms as if seeking to seal her promise with an embrace. Willow held back before finally allowing herself to sink into Tara's embrace, Willow lost herself to great gulping sobs that left her whole body racked and trembling. However the more violently her body shook, the more Tara intensified her embrace.

Although it was difficult for Willow to acknowledge…even in her head, she realised that it was over. Dracula and the skull had both been destroyed after hundreds of years of struggle, after so many sacrifices. Even though she did not know the full extent of what had happened, Willow knew that their victory had come at a huge cost. It was a cost that she would eventually have to face and yet at that moment Willow wanted to rest, comforted by the solid realisation that she was safe in Tara's innocent arms.

So Tara held her. In the end, everything had returned to as it was at the beginning in 1777 with two young women alone in a stable.

However, this time Willow knew that there was no way in hell she was going to let Tara go.

**THE END**


End file.
